"Tomorrow," he promised his conscience, "tomorrow I mean to believe;
Tomorrow I'll think as I ought to; tomorrow the Savior receive;
Tomorrow I'll conquer the habits that hold me in sin's deadly sway.”
But ever his conscience repeated: "Today—today—today!”
"Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow"—thus day after day it went on;
"Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow"—till youth like a vision was gone;
Till age and his passions had written the sentence of woe on his brow;
And forth from the shadows came Death, with the pitiless syllable, "NOW!”
"What will you do with Jesus?
The call comes low and clear,
The solemn words are sounding
Now in your listening ear.
Immortal life's in the question,
And joy through eternity.
Then what will you do with Jesus?
Oh, what will your answer be?”