Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, IN A HUNDRED YEARS, by ELIZABETH DOTEN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

IN A HUNDRED YEARS, by                    
First Line: It will be all the same in a hundred years
Last Line: For 'tis not the same in a hundred years!
Alternate Author Name(s): Doten, Lizzie
Subject(s): Future; Religion; Theology


IT WILL BE all the same in a hundred years --
What a spell-word to conjure up smiles and tears!
How oft do I muse, 'mid the thoughtless and gay,
On the marvelous truth that these words convey!
And can it be so? Must the valiant and free
Hold their tenure of life on this frail decree?
Are the trophies they've reared and the glories they've won
Only castles of frost-work confronting the sun?
And must all that's as joyous and brilliant to view
As a midsummer dream be as perishing too?
Then have pity, ye proud ones; be gentle, ye great.
O remember how mercy beseemeth your state;
For the rust that consumeth the sword of the brave,
Eats, too, at the chain of the manacled slave;
And the conqueror's frowns and his victim's tears
Will be all the same in a hundred years.

How dark are your fortunes, ye sons of the soil,
Whose heirloom is sorrow, whose birthright is toil!
Yet envy not those who have glory and gold
By the sweat of the poor and the blood of the bold:
For 'tis coming -- howe'er they may flaunt in their pride --
The day when they'll molder to dust by your side.
For Time, as he speeds on invisible wings,
Disenamels and withers earth's costliest things.
And the knight's white plume, and the shepherd's crook,
And the minstrel's pipe, and the scholar's book,
And the emperor's crown, and his Cossacks' spears,
Will be dust alike in a hundred years.

Then what meaneth the chase after phantom joys,
And the breaking of human hearts for toys,
And the veteran's pride in his crafty schemes,
And the passion of youth for its darling dreams,
And the aiming at ends we never can span,
And the deadly aversion of man for man?
To what end is this conflict of hopes and fears,
If 'tis all the same in a hundred years?

Ah, 'tis not the same in a hundred years,
How clear soever that motto appears;
For know ye not that beyond the grave,
Far, far beyond where the cedars wave
On the Syrian mountains, and where the stars
Come glittering forth in their golden cars,
There bloometh a land of perennial bliss,
Where we smile to think of the tears in this?
And the pilgrim reaching that radiant shore
Hath the thought of death in his heart no more,
But layeth his staff and sandals down
For the victor's wreath and the angel's crown:
And the mother meets in that tranquil sphere
The delightful child she had wept for here:
And the warrior's sword, who protects the right,
Is bejeweled with stars of undying light;
And we quaff of the same immortal cup,
While the orphan smiles, and the slave looks up.
Then be glad, my heart, and forget thy tears;
For 'tis NOT the same in a hundred years!





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