Should It Be
If my heart should wear a stain
Of selfish acts or fleeting gain;
Or if the grass should take my bone
And lead me to the earth, alone;
Or if the mountains, vast and still,
Should whisper of the wasted will;
And if the sun, with slow decay,
Should turn the wise and old to clay;
Or if the years, with quiet pace,
Should give the future gentle grace;
And if the proud should seek a stage
That nature never could arrange;
And if they look beyond the trees
For stars to grant what should not be;
And if the light of fleeting time
Should blind the world to ancient crime;
Then time will come, as seasons do
To take all things both old and new;
The joy, the grief, the rise, the fall,
For rich and poor, the same for all.
Then time will lead, as night brings cold,
Each shout of triumph, faint and bold;
For every hope, each breath, each fight,
Shall fade into the quiet night.