html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }Boast not of to-morrow,
O light heart of mine!
Thou know'st not what sorrow
Ere then may be thine.
Untimely frost blackens
Fair buds in a night,
And a woe all undreamed of
As swiftly may blight.
Thy present is joyous,
Thy future gleams fair,
Hope gilds every vision—
Nor hinteth of care.
But think of that evening,
When calm skies looked down
On fair Egypt's children,
And wore not a frown;
And yet when the morning
Dawned over the land,
Grim death claimed the eldest
Of each household band.
Or picture that palace
Of Chaldea's king
Where the hours were joyous
With gay banqueting.
Where beauty smiled proudly,
And wine sparkled bright;
While music enchanting
Swelled out on the night.
And mark you, how sudden
Upon the fair wall,
Was written the message
Which terrified all.
And ere the morn's brilliance
Made Luna's light wane,
The royal Belshazzar
Was marked with the slain.
Then claim not the future,
O proud heart of mine,
For only the present
Thou mayest call thine.
To-morrow may find thee
All pulseless and cold,
Or the prey of an anguish
Too deep to be told.
June, 1870.