AGE
Silver hairs I trace,
Lines upon the face,
And a slower tread,
With a drooping head;
Shoulders that are bent,
Vigor that is spent,
All the aches and pains
As a life-time wanes.
You have set the pace;
Time has won the race,
And as victor claims
All your hopes and aims;
Leaves you all alone,—
No chance to atone.
Yesterday has gone,—
Yours to-morrow morn.
Take it, make it good;
Hold it as you should;
For your day is sinking,—
Now is time for thinking.
Lines upon the face,
And a slower tread,
With a drooping head;
Shoulders that are bent,
Vigor that is spent,
All the aches and pains
As a life-time wanes.
You have set the pace;
Time has won the race,
And as victor claims
All your hopes and aims;
Leaves you all alone,—
No chance to atone.
Yesterday has gone,—
Yours to-morrow morn.
Take it, make it good;
Hold it as you should;
For your day is sinking,—
Now is time for thinking.
Knowing, doing, keeping,—
Faith and love and reaping.
Faith and love and reaping.
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