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 pieced together somehow,
If you eat big steaks or beans and cake
A hundred years from now.

It won’t matter about 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 to 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