Present and Future

We live not in our moments or our years,

The present we fling from us, like the rind of some sweet future

Which we after find better to taste, or bind it in with fears

Or water it well beforehand with our tears,

Vain tears for that which never may arrive;

Meanwhile the joys whereby we ought to live

Neglected or unheeded disappear, Wiser it were

To welcome and make ours; whate’er of good, tho’ small

The present brings, the songs of bird, kind greetings and flowers,

With a child’s pure delight in little things;

And of the grief’s unborn to rest secure,

Knowing that mercy ever will endure.