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.