A Few Short Years From Now.

Say, art thou angry? words unkind
    Have fallen upon thine ear,
Thy spirit hath been wounded too
    By mocking jest or sneer,
But mind it not - relax at once
    Thine o'ercast and troubled brow -
What will be taunt or jest to thee
    In a few short years from now?

Or, perhaps thou mayst be pining
    Beneath some bitter grief,
From whose pangs in vain thou seekest
    Or respite or relief;
Fret not 'neath Heav'n's chastening rod
    But submissive to it bow;
Thy griefs will all be hushed to rest
    In a few short years from now.

Art toiling for some worldly aim,
    Or for some golden prize,
Devoting to that glitt'ring goal
    Thy thoughts, thy smiles, thy sighs?
Ah! rest thee from the idle chase,
    With no bliss can it endow;
Of fame or gold, what will be thine
    In a few short years from now?

It may be pleasure's roseate dreams
    Possess thy wayward heart,
Its gilded gauds for better things
    Leaving alas! no part;
Ah! cast away the gems and flowers
    That bind thy thoughtless brow,
Where will their gleam or brightness be
    In a few short years from now?

The good thou may'st on earth have done,
    Love to a brother shown -
Pardon to foe - alms unto need -
    Kind word or gentle tone;
The treasures thus laid up in Heav'n
    By the good on earth done now,
These will alone remain to thee,
    In a few short years from now.