IT MATTERS NOT.

What matters it what we may think, Or what is our belief; ’Tis worthless straw thrashed o’er and o’er, No wheat is in the sheaf. ’Tis what we are, ’tis what we do That makes of life a song. We may believe that black is white, And though we are quite wrong: It matters little to the world; For we are as a drop Of water in Life’s ocean broad; Life’s tide will never stop To see if we are in our place, Or what we mean to do; It comes, and goes without our help, Would not our death e’en rue. We are of little consequence, Although perhaps we think The world would be a barren waste, If we perchance should sink Beneath the waves of Life’s great sea. Or on its shores be tossed. But not a ripple would there be E’en though our lives were lost. The world would e’er go on the same. Life’s tides would come and go; Regardless of our happiness, Regardless of our woe. And yet we have our little place, That little place is ours. None other could our life work do, Nor pluck for us Life’s flowers.