A song of the Present,—the unwritten Now,
Whether age, youth, or manhood is stamped on the brow;
Of the days that are lent us by Heaven's behest,
To prepare for the future and heavenly rest.
The past lies behind us with memories filled,
Of hopes that have perished, of wishes fulfilled,
Of joys that have vanished, of joys that remain,
Of friends that have left us to come not again.
The future before us is hid from our sight;
Time's changes alone shall reveal it to light,
The present is with us, though fleeting full fast,
Its moments swift hastening to blend with the past.
Each day in the drama of life hath a part,
Bringing pleasure or grief to each beating heart,
And the tablet of time hath a record true
Of the deeds left undone and the deeds that we do.
There are dear ones to cherish, kind words to say,
Faint hearts to solace in life's rugged way;
There is succor to give to the brother in need,
The fallen to lift and the hungry to feed.
There are wrongs to be righted,—who of us shall dare
Refuse in this God-given work to share?
There is work for us all; let us do it in love;
Let us merit the meed of "Well done" from above.
