Behold, Thou hast made my days as a handbreadth; and mine age is as nothing before Thee: verily every man at his best state is altogether vanity.@Psalm 39:5

Will C. Brown, in The An­ni­ver­sa­ry and Sun­day School Mu­sic Book No. 1–5, ed­it­ed by Hor­ace Wa­ters (New York: Hor­ace Wa­ters, 1858).

J. R. Os­good (🔊 pdf nwc).

Where! Where will be the birds that sing,
A hundred years to come?
The flowers that now in beauty spring,
A hundred years to come?
The rosy lips, the lofty brow,
The heart that beats so gaily now;
O where will be love’s beaming eye,
Joy’s pleasant smile, and sorrow’s sigh,
A hundred years to come?

Who’ll press for gold this crowded street,
A hundred years to come?
Who’ll tread yon church with willing feet,
A hundred years to come?
Pale, trembling age, and fiery youth,
And childhood with its heart of truth,
The rich, the poor, on land and sea,
Where will the mighty millions be
A hundred years to come?

We all within our graves shall sleep
A hundred years to come;
No living soul for us will weep
A hundred years to come;
But other men our lands will till,
And others then our streets will fill,
While other birds will sing as gay,
And bright the sun shine as today,
A hundred years to come.