A Swedish Poem.
It matters little where I was born,
If my parents were rich or poor;
Whether they shrank 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, my brother, as plain as I am,
It matters much!
It matters little how long I stay
In a world of sorrow and care;
Whether in youth I’m 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 is my grave,
On the land or on 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!