True American. [volume] (Steubenville [Ohio]) 1855-1861, 1855-07-11
Meet Me To Morrow"

Meet Me 10 Morf0W.
Thus said one man to another in the
street yesterday-"mcet me tomorrow.
They stood with their hands clasped, look
ing hopefully each into the others face,
as if the flush of the morrow they waited
for, already crowned them with its radi-
ance. But with the utterance Of these
words, they broke asunder, each going
his own way-who shall say that they may
not clasp hands again on the upper strand
tomorrow?
"Meet me tomorrow" It is to-day,
now. The sunlight gleam around us, the
birds chant their songs above us, the brooks
babblc tour feet. Flowers are knceling
at our path side. Hope nestles in our
hearts. Love leans upon our arm, whis-
pering sweet words as we walk together.
But with all We are not happy; there is
sccptre standing in our path, with finger
lifted, as if beckoning down calamity upon
us. 1t is the Morrow; and however sweet
the music, however grand the light, how
ever fragrant the perfume, We cannot put
away the thought that when tomorrow
comes it will be to-day again, and the
mantle of futurity will have dropped one
more fold-onc more Of its dense, dark
folds around our pathway.
"Mect NE tomorrow" These are gol-
den words; they constitute sentence, in
which Hope shines as jewel in the tiara
of Kings and wherein Faith CLEANS as
star on the mirror of Heaven Brave
words too, are these for they breathe the
spirit of that courage which de6es all cir
cumstancc, and braves the perils throng-
ing in the aislcs of time to come. "Mect
me tomorrow" is a song, ziralcct such as
women of the Fast sing in joyful days; it
is an assertion of faith, such as the martyrs
made even with the banner of flame wrap
ped around them. Still, the song at times
has a sob in 1.-THE eye from which faith
looks forth has tears in it. Men cannot
always be hopeful-thc heart cannot al
ways be glad. Hence is it, that "Mect
me tomorrow" is sometimes uttered with
fear and trembling, SO that it sounds more
like dirge than a song of Hope.
"NIeet me tomorrow" The Alma tree,
Nienhotf tells us, is always filled with BIOS
SONS. So is the heart of men who can
always utter "Meet me tomorrow" in the
calm confidence that come what may, lie
will be prepared thcrefor-that however
dark may be the clouds, or however bright
the sunshine, with him all will be. WE'LL,
Such man dwclls in realm, brighter
and purer than the vale of Rosetta, filled
as it was with turtle. doves; for he has
great hopes singingin his heart, continual
ly, whose music equals that of the angels
whose fingers are twinining around hin
! by day, and by night the symphonies auC
the loves Of the Holy Ones whose altar
are planted on the upper strand,
"Meet Inc tomorrow" Time is pass
ing; each hour some hope slips from it
sling-somc golden opportunity is lost for
ever--somc new pitfall yawns in our path
Are we preparing for the meeting Of tc
morrow? The years do not stop in thei
career; the blooms of life donot cease witt
cring from our hearts. Silently, but sure
ly We are drifting vn TO tic unknow
shore, where the barques of millions bC
fore us have dropped their anchors in I'll
bosom of the "still waters" Shall "
not strive so to live that we may 60 u
fcarlessly to the great mcctingo of the Etc
) nal Morrow; daring, with unblanchcd fac
to confront the records of the buriC
years which shall come up, at the resu
+ rcction call, from their graves along OIL
}, path to bear testimony as to our life al
c conversation here bclow?--Nepdrk Me
l. cury.