06 November 2013

A Hundred Years to Come - An 1857 Poem

By R.G.T.; Washington, June 26, 1857.
Where will be the birds that sing,
A hundred years to come?
The flowers that now in beauty spring,
A hundred years to come?
The rosy lip,
The lofty brow,
The heart that beats
So gaily now —
O where will be love's beaming eye
Joy's pleasant smiles and sorrow's sigh,
A hundred years to come?
 
Who'll press for gold this crowded street
A hundred years to come?
Who'll tread yon church with willing feet
A hundred years to come?
Pale trembling age
And fiery youth,
And childhood, with
Its brow of truth
The rich and poor, on land and sea
Where will the mighty millions be
A hundred years to come?
 
We all within our graves shall sleep
A hundred years to come!
No living soul for us will weep
A hundred years to come!
But other men
Our lands will till,
And others then
Our streets will fill;
While other birds will sing as gay,
As bright the sunshine as to-day,
A hundred years to come!
August 18, 1857. Sacramento Daily Union 13(1995): 4. From the National Intelligencer.