“Tomorrow,” he promised his conscience;
“Tomorrow I mean to believe;
Tomorrow I’ll think as I ought to;
Tomorrow the Saviour receive;
Tomorrow I’ll conquer the habits
That hold me in sin’s bitter sway.”
But ever his conscience repeated one word,
“Today, today, today!”
“Tomorrow—tomorrow—tomorrow”—
So day after day it went on.
“Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow”—
Till youth like a vision was gone,
Till age and his passions had written
The sentence of fate on his brow;
And forth from the shadows came Death,
With the pitiless syllable: “NOW!”