Wail not for precious chances passed away,
Weep not for golden ages on the wane!
Each night I burn the records of the day;
At sunrise every soul is born again.

From “Opportunity”  by  Walter Malone.

Look T’ward the Morrow
(a glosa)
 

One day you find that you’ve grown old,
Life’s anchor failed, your boat’s adrift
Upon the sea, storm-tossed and cold,
And night is falling much too swift.
Mourn not the coming end of day,
Wail not for precious chances passed away.

Life’s hourglass was once so full,
The sands of time held promise great,
But now you feel the Reaper’s pull
And, too late, you bemoan your fate.
Remorseful tears now fall like rain,
Weep not for golden ages on the wane!

Though sins were many, good deeds few,
Your life, you feel, a total loss,
Remember child, I died for you,
I shed my blood upon the cross.
Life up your eyes, do not dismay,
Each night I burn the records of the day.

Time, once a friend, is now a foe,
Life’s grains now numbered on one hand,
And yet, where there is breath, there’s hope,
You need not fear God’s reprimand.
Sleep now, the storm’s but cleansing rain,
At sunrise every soul is born again.
 

~ Linda E. Newman ~
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