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.