It matters little where I was born,
Or if my parents were rich or poor;
Whether they shrunk at the cold world's scorn,
Or walked in the pride of wealth secure.
But whether I live an honest man
And hold my integrity firm in my clutch
I tell you, brother, as plain as I can,
It matters much.
It matters little how long I stay
In a world of sorrow, sin, and care;
Whether in youth I am called away
Or live till my bones and pate are bare.
But whether I do the best I can
To soften the weight of Adversity's touch
On the faded cheek of my fellow man,
It matters much.
It matters little where be my grave--
Or on the land or in the sea,
By purling brook or 'neath stormy wave,
It matters little or naught to me;
But whether the Angel Death comes down,
And marks my brow with his loving touch,
As one that shall wear the victor's crown,
It matters much.
--Noah Barker.
For I am 'ware it is the seed of act
God holds appraising in his hollow palm,
Not act grown great thence in the world below;
Leafage and branchage vulgar eyes admire.
--Robert Browning.