Tomorrow, tomorrow to have and to hold
Tomorrow, tomorrow, let none be so bold

As to think that the future will not soon be past,
That time, our strong foe, will not conquer at last.

And bear us away like autumn's fair blends
With tearful farewells to our things and our friends,

And sorrow's last look at the circle of love
Then fleeting away to the Father above,

Tomrrow, tomorrow I boast not of thee,
Tomorrow is not—only eternity.

—Dave Breese