1971: A mother rides a Ferris wheel her infant son. | Source: Nelson’s Photo Archive | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Nearly 20 years ago, my father gave my eldest daughter a beautiful book, Gems of Poetry. Today, I spent some time reading it and found this beautiful poem by Mary A. Ford, better known as Una.

A Hundred Years From Now

The surging sea of human life forever onward rolls,
And bears to the eternal shore its daily freight of souls;
Through bravely sails our bark to-day, pale death sits at the prwo,
And few shall know we ever lived a hundred years from now.

O mighty human brotherhood! why fiercely war and strive,
While God’s great world has ample space for everything alive?
Broad fields, uncultured and unclaimed, are waiting for the plow
Of progress that shall make them bloom a hundred years from now.

Why should we try so earnestly in life’s short narrow span,
On golden stairs to climb so high above our brother man?
Why blindly at an earthly shrine in slavish homage bow?
Our gold will rust, ourselves be dust, a hundred years from now.

Why prize so much the world’s applause? Why dread so much its blame?
A fleeting evcho is its voice of censure or of fame;
The praise that thrills the heart, the scorn that dyes with shame the brow,
Will be as long-forgotten dreams a hundred years from now.

O patient hearts, that meekly bear your weary load of wrong!
O earnest hearts, that bravely dare, and striving, grow more strong!
Press on till perfect peace is won; you’ll never dream of how
You struggled o’er life’s thorny road a hundred years from now.

Grand, lofty souls, who live and toil that freedom, right and truth
Alone may rule the universe, for you is endless youth;
When ‘mid the blest, with God you rest, the grateful lands shall bow
Above your clay in rev’rent love a hundred years from now.

Earth’s empires rise and fall, O Time! like breakers on they shore;
They rush upon thy rocks of doom, go down, and are now more;
The starry wilderness of worlds that gem night’s radiant brow
Will light the skies for other eyes a hundred years from now.

Our father, to whose sleepless eyes the past and future stand
An open page, like babes we cling to thy protecting hand;
Change, sorrow, death are naught to us if we may safely bow
Beneath the shadow of Thy throne, a hundred years from now.

More pictures of our mothers here.

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