He went to one whom he thought more wise
Than any other beneath the skies:
"Mother,"--O word that makes the home!--
"Tell me, when will to-morrow come?"
"It is almost night," the mother said,
"And time for my boy to be in bed;
When you wake up and it's day again,
It will be to-morrow, my darling, then."
The little boy slept through all the night,
But woke with the first red streak of light;
He pressed a kiss on his mother's brow,
And whispered, "Is it to-morrow now?"
"No, little Eddie, this is to-day;
To-morrow is always one night away."
He pondered awhile, but joys came fast,
And this vexing question quickly passed.
But it came again with the shades of night:
"Will it be to-morrow when it is light?"
From years to come, he seemed care to borrow,
He tried so hard to catch to-morrow.
"You can not catch it, my little Ted;
Enjoy to-day," the mother said;
"Some wait for to-morrow through many a year--
It always is coming, but never is here."
* * * * *
Directions for Reading.--In reading poetry, pupils should notice the
emphatic words, and give them proper force.
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