It will not make much difference, friend, A hundred years from now
If you live in a stately mansion or on a river scow;
If the clothes you wear are tailor-made or pierced together somehow,
If you eat big steaks or beans and cake … A hundred years from now.
It won’t matter your bank account or the make of car you drive,
For the grave will claim all riches and fame and the things for which you strive.
There’s a deadline that we all must meet and no one will be late.
It won’t matter then all the places you’ve been, Each one will keep that date.
We will only have in eternity – what we gave away on earth,
When we go the grave, we can only save the things of eternal worth.
What matters, friend, the earthly gain for which some men always bow?
For your destiny will be sealed, you see … a hundred years from now.
by Walden Parker