A HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW Mary A. Ford
O mighty human brotherhood! why fiercely war and strive,
While God's great world has ample space for everything alive?
Broad fields uncultured and unclaimed, are waiting for the plow
Of progress that shall make them bloom, a hundred years from now.
Why should we try so earnestly in life's short, narrow span,
On golden stairs to climb so high above our brother man?
Why blindly at an earthly shrine in slavish homage bow?
Our gold will rust, ourselves be dust, a hundred years from now.
Why prize so much the world's applause? Why dread so much its blame?
A fleeting echo is its voice of censure or of fame;
The praise that thrills the heart, the scorn that dyes with shame the brow,
Will be a long-forgotten dream, a hundred years from now.
O patient hearts, that meekly bear your weary load of wrong!
O earnest hearts, that bravely dare, and, striving, grow more strong!
Press on till perfect peace is won; you'll never dream of how
You struggled o'er life's thorny road, a hundred years from now.
Grand, lofty souls, who live and toil that freedom, right, and truth
Alone may rule the universe, for you is endless youth!
When 'mid the blest with God you rest, the grateful land shall bow
Above your clay in reverent love, a hundred years from now.
Source: https://www.locserendipity.com/full/platformpiece00hawn_djvu... (written in 1922)
A HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW Mary A. Ford
O mighty human brotherhood! why fiercely war and strive,
While God's great world has ample space for everything alive?
Broad fields uncultured and unclaimed, are waiting for the plow
Of progress that shall make them bloom, a hundred years from now.
Why should we try so earnestly in life's short, narrow span,
On golden stairs to climb so high above our brother man?
Why blindly at an earthly shrine in slavish homage bow?
Our gold will rust, ourselves be dust, a hundred years from now.
Why prize so much the world's applause? Why dread so much its blame?
A fleeting echo is its voice of censure or of fame;
The praise that thrills the heart, the scorn that dyes with shame the brow,
Will be a long-forgotten dream, a hundred years from now.
O patient hearts, that meekly bear your weary load of wrong!
O earnest hearts, that bravely dare, and, striving, grow more strong!
Press on till perfect peace is won; you'll never dream of how
You struggled o'er life's thorny road, a hundred years from now.
Grand, lofty souls, who live and toil that freedom, right, and truth
Alone may rule the universe, for you is endless youth!
When 'mid the blest with God you rest, the grateful land shall bow
Above your clay in reverent love, a hundred years from now.
Source: https://www.locserendipity.com/full/platformpiece00hawn_djvu... (written in 1922)