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.