 | The girl's reading-book ; in prose and poetry |  |
181
PROCRASTINATION.
“Live well to-day,” a spirit cries,
“To-day be good, to-day be wise;”
Why doth the loitering idler tell,
Another day will do as well?
“To-day be good, to-day be wise;”
Why doth the loitering idler tell,
Another day will do as well?
“Now is the time, the accepted time,”
Speaks audibly the page sublime;
Another creed is heard to say,
“Wait till a more convenient day.”
Speaks audibly the page sublime;
Another creed is heard to say,
“Wait till a more convenient day.”
Inquir'st thou which of these is truth?
Which to obey, unwary youth?
Go, ask of Nature in thy walk,
The rose-bud, dying on the stalk,
The scythe-shorn grass, the withering tree,
Are emblems of thy fate and thee.
Which to obey, unwary youth?
Go, ask of Nature in thy walk,
The rose-bud, dying on the stalk,
The scythe-shorn grass, the withering tree,
Are emblems of thy fate and thee.
Ask of the stream, or torrent hoarse,
To linger on their wonted course,
Ask of the bird its flight to stay,
Building its light nest on the spray,
And listen to their answering tone,
“A future day is not our own.”
To linger on their wonted course,
Ask of the bird its flight to stay,
Building its light nest on the spray,
And listen to their answering tone,
“A future day is not our own.”
And is it thine? Oh, spurn the cheat,
Resist the smooth, the dire deceit,
Lest while thou dream'st of long delay,
Thine hour of action pass away,
Thy prospects fade, thy joys be o'er,
Thy time of hope return no more.
Resist the smooth, the dire deceit,
Lest while thou dream'st of long delay,
Thine hour of action pass away,
Thy prospects fade, thy joys be o'er,
Thy time of hope return no more.
182
Ask of the Roman, pale with fear,
While judgment thunder'd in his ear,
Who to a mourning friend could say,
“I'll hear thee on a future day;”
Ask him if time confirm'd his claim,
Or that good season ever came?
While judgment thunder'd in his ear,
Who to a mourning friend could say,
“I'll hear thee on a future day;”
Ask him if time confirm'd his claim,
Or that good season ever came?
Go! ask yon dying man the price
Of one short hour of thoughtless vice;
What would he pay—what treasure give,
For one brief season more to live,
One hour to spend in anxious care,
In duty, penitence, and prayer?
Of one short hour of thoughtless vice;
What would he pay—what treasure give,
For one brief season more to live,
One hour to spend in anxious care,
In duty, penitence, and prayer?
Ask of the grave—how hoarse resounds
A voice from its sepulchral bounds,
‘With me no hope, or knowledge shine,
Nor wisdom, nor device are mine.”
A voice from its sepulchral bounds,
‘With me no hope, or knowledge shine,
Nor wisdom, nor device are mine.”
Delay no longer, lest thy breath
Should quiver in the sigh of death,
But inward turn thy thoughtful view,
And what thy duty dictates, do.
Should quiver in the sigh of death,
But inward turn thy thoughtful view,
And what thy duty dictates, do.
| The girl's reading-book ; in prose and poetry | |