T Is 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 Door That Time Unlocks Feel The Fresh Breathing Of To-Morrow Creep. To-Morrow! 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."