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Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn! Look to this Day! For it is Life, The very Life of Life. In its brief course lie all the Varieties And Realities of your Existence; The Bliss of Growth, The Glory of Action, The Splendor of Beauty; For Yesterday is but a Dream, And Tomorrow is only a Vision; But Today well lived Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness, And every Tomorrow a Vision of Hope. Look well therefore to this Day! Such is the Salutation of Dawn.

Day is a snow-white Dove of heaven That from the East glad message brings.

The long days are no happier than the short ones.

My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and are spent without hope.

For then shalt thou lift up thy face without spot; yea, thou shalt be stedfast, and shalt not fear: Because thou shalt forget thy misery, and remember it as waters that pass away: And thine age shall be clearer than the noonday; thou shalt shine forth, thou shalt be as the morning.

I said, Days should speak, and multitude of years should teach wisdom.

Boast not thyself of to morrow; for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth.

Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge.

Think that day lost whose descending sun Views from thy hand no noble action done.

From fibers of pain and hope and trouble And toil and happiness,--one by one,-- Twisted together, or single or double, The varying thread of our life is spun. Hope shall cheer though the chain be galling; Light shall come though the gloom be falling; Faith will list for the Master calling Our hearts to his rest,--when the day is done.

Yet, behind the night, Waits for the great unborn, somewhere afar, Some white tremendous daybreak.

Day! Faster and more fast, O'er night's brim, day boils at last; Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim.

Is not every meanest day the confluence of two eternities?

So here hath been dawning Another blue day; Think, wilt thou let it Slip useless away? Out of eternity This new day is born, Into eternity At night will return.

Day of wrath that day of burning, Seer and Sibyl speak concerning, All the world to ashes turning.

All comes out even at the end of the day.

Beware of desperate steps. The darkest day, Live till to-morrow, will have pass'd away.

Days that need borrow No part of their good morrow, From a fore-spent night of sorrow.

Daughter of Time, the hypocrite Days, Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, And marching single in an endless file, Bring diadems and fagots in their hands; To each they offer gifts after his will, Bread, kingdom, stars, and sky that holds them all; I, in my pleached garden watched the pomp Forgot my morning wishes, hastily Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day Turned and departed silent. I too late Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.

The day are ever divine as to the first Aryans. They are of the least pretension, and of the greatest capacity of anything that exists. They come and go like muffled and veiled figures sent from a distant friendly party; but they say nothing, and if we do not use the gifts they bring, they carry them as silently away.