TO A LEARNED MAX DREADING OLD AGE 329
Who tares have planted in the past
Must reap the worthless weed, — Who force in spring life's flowers too fast
Harvest no ripened seed.
But thou, that on grave wisdom's track
Hast gleaned such precious store, And, on life's highway looking back,
Seest little to deplore, Down to the vale of years mayst wend
Thy way, and smile at care ; 'Tis what we have been, valued friend.
That makes us what we are.
He who in folly's train hath danced,
Or lived the slave of gain, Who ne'er another's joy enhanced,
Nor soothed another's pain, — The envious man whose heart impure
Corrodes within his breast, — Of all the miseries such endure.
Decrepitude's the least.
But wise old age, more blest than youth.
Through error's mists can see. And, having faithful been to truth,
From prejudice is free ; The quiet mind resists decay,
And still is health's defence ; It thaws the frosts of time away
By mild benevolence.
And, as the late sun, glowing bright,
Melts on the ocean's breast. And casts his glory half the night
O'er all the reddening west,
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