Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — To-morrow

'T is late at night, and in the realm of sleep        &nbsp My little lambs are folded like the flocks;        &nbsp From room to room I hear the wakeful clocks        &nbsp Challenge the passing hour, like guards that keep Their solitary watch on tower and steep;        &nbsp Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks,        &nbsp And through the opening door that time unlocks        &nbsp Feel the fresh breathing of To-morrow creep. To-morrow! the mysterious, unknown guest,        &nbsp Who cries to me: "Remember Barmecide,        &nbsp And tremble to be happy with the rest." And I make answer: "I am satisfied;        &nbsp I dare not ask; I know not what is best;        &nbsp God hath already said what shall betide."