Say, art thou angry? words unkind br Have fallen upon thine ear, br Thy spirit hath been wounded too br By mocking jest or sneer, br But mind it not—relax at once br Thine o’ercast and troubled brow— br What will be taunt or jest to thee br In a few short years from now? br br Or, perhaps thou mayst be pining br Beneath some bitter grief, br From whose pangs in vain thou seekest br Or respite or relief; br Fret not ’neath Heav’n’s chastening rod br But submissive to it bow; br Thy griefs will all be hushed to rest br In a few short years from now. br br Art toiling for some worldly aim, br Or for some golden prize, br Devoting to that glitt’ring goal br Thy thoughts, thy smiles, thy sighs? br Ah! rest thee from the idle chase, br With no bliss can it endow; br Of fame or gold, what will be thine br In a few short years from now? br br It may be pleasure’s roseate dreams br Possess thy wayward heart, br Its gilded gauds for better things br Leaving alas! no part; br Ah! cast away the gems and flowers br That bind thy thoughtless brow, br Where will their gleam or brightness be br In a few short years from now? br br The good thou may’st on earth have done, br Love to a brother shown— br Pardon to foe—alms unto need— br Kind word or gentle tone; br The treasures thus laid up in Heav’n br By the good on earth done now, br These will alone remain to thee, br In a few short years from now.