The Glories Of The Present
WHAT of the glories after death,
by Edgar Albert Guest
When this frail form gives up its breath?
Why do we strive to understand
The Future when the Now's at hand?
What matters it to you and me
That o'er some dark mysterious sea
Whereon we all must sail some day,
Awaits a port where we must stay?
It is enough for me to know
A brighter place there is to go;
I ask not when will come my time,
Whether the road is hard to climb,
What glories there await for me;
I would not solve Death's mystery
And still live on — I am content
To live the life that God has sent.
Now is the problem that I strive
To solve, while I am yet alive;
What am I here for, what to do?
Am I unto my purpose true?
Do I live, every day a man,
Helping and cheering where I can?
Am I employing every hour
For deeds of good, my gift of power?
This is what I prefer to know,
Not when or whither I must go;
No thought of Future lines my brow,
Mine is the problem of the Now.
My hopes are not on after-death,
But on today while I have breath;
If I have done my best while here,
I'll face hereafter without fear.