Poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - 'Tis late at night

‘Tis late at night, and in the realm of sleep

    My little lambs are folded like the flocks

    From room to room I hear the wakeful clocks

    Challenge the passing hour, like guards that keep

Their solitary watch on tower and steep;

    Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks,

    And through the opening doors that time unlocks

    Feel the fresh breathing of Tomorrow creep.

Tomorrow the mysterious, unknown guest

    Who cries to me: “Remember Barmecide,

    And tremble to be happy with the rest.”

And I make answer: “I am satisfied;

I dare not ask, I know not what is best;

God hath already said what shall betide.”