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Article IN A HUNDRED YEARS. Page 1 of 1
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
In A Hundred Years.
IN A HUNDRED YEARS .
BT J . E . PANTON . IT will not matter in a hundred years That you are rich , that I am sick and tired ; For all these little smiles and faithless tears Will perish with the life that them inspired . And when in dust Ave two are both laid low , Wliich had the best in life none here will know .
I watch your dainty w ays and little airs , And see you waste what oft would spare me pain . Life holds us both , yet gives unequal shares , For you are rich ( I say it once again ) And I am poor . Yet death , whose eyes are blind , Stands by us both , and round both hearts is twined .
I do not want to think that you must die , You charming child . I love to watch a while Your pretty colours mock the Summer sky ; You grace the very garden with your smile . But in a hundred years no one shall say That you were sweet that long dead Summer day .
I think it would be better should you pause A little while to think of why life came And breathed upon you . Say you know the cause , And that your parents only share the blame . Yet ' twould be best if gentle words and deeds Replaced at times gay fashion ' s useless weeds .
You see there is a certainty that God exists—That some bright heaven will hold the happy dead ; Or , if we only sink into gray mists , Some trifling songs we sang or we said , May help some sufferer on the path of life , To hear sweet music ' mid the battle strife .
And so I deem when these same hundred years Are vanished , and both you and I are laid Beyond life ' s smiles and hopes and trivial fears , It would be better , while yourself decayed , If some one whispered o ' er your funeral gloom , " Her memory blooms like roses from her tomb . "
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
In A Hundred Years.
IN A HUNDRED YEARS .
BT J . E . PANTON . IT will not matter in a hundred years That you are rich , that I am sick and tired ; For all these little smiles and faithless tears Will perish with the life that them inspired . And when in dust Ave two are both laid low , Wliich had the best in life none here will know .
I watch your dainty w ays and little airs , And see you waste what oft would spare me pain . Life holds us both , yet gives unequal shares , For you are rich ( I say it once again ) And I am poor . Yet death , whose eyes are blind , Stands by us both , and round both hearts is twined .
I do not want to think that you must die , You charming child . I love to watch a while Your pretty colours mock the Summer sky ; You grace the very garden with your smile . But in a hundred years no one shall say That you were sweet that long dead Summer day .
I think it would be better should you pause A little while to think of why life came And breathed upon you . Say you know the cause , And that your parents only share the blame . Yet ' twould be best if gentle words and deeds Replaced at times gay fashion ' s useless weeds .
You see there is a certainty that God exists—That some bright heaven will hold the happy dead ; Or , if we only sink into gray mists , Some trifling songs we sang or we said , May help some sufferer on the path of life , To hear sweet music ' mid the battle strife .
And so I deem when these same hundred years Are vanished , and both you and I are laid Beyond life ' s smiles and hopes and trivial fears , It would be better , while yourself decayed , If some one whispered o ' er your funeral gloom , " Her memory blooms like roses from her tomb . "