A Year from Now

WILL I have other thoughts

A year from now?

Will this dear joy still wear its blossomed crown?

And this still dearer sorrow,

Will it then, as now

Lay hands of blest remembrance

On my head?

I gaze into the dimness—

Does there grow, beyond my seeing,

The fair light of stars?

I know not—but Thou knowest—

Thou, to whom tomorrow is to-day—

I rest in Thee.

Deal gently with my years.