“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 passing had written
The sentence of fate on his brow,
And forth from the shadows came Death,
With the pitiless syllable: “NOW!”