Poems (Stephens)/The old man's meditation
THE OLD MAN'S MEDITATION
We're growing old, our eyes have not The perfect sight of early years; They're growing dim, we know it well, Thank God they are not dimmed by tears.
Our ears no longer catch the sound As once they did of lightest word,And yet the gentle tones of love Are even now distinctly heard.
Our cheeks have not that healthful glow Our hearts do not as wildly leap,But oh, we have a sense of joy As constant as 'tis calm and deep.
We know our tread is not as firm As when in youth of manhood's prime, But wo are keeping step full well With others in the march of time.
We're passing onward to a land Where age will never dim the sight And there, though lacking lustre now, Our eyes will beam with heavenly light.
And softer, sweeter sounds by far Will fall upon our quickened ear, Than e'er in brightest moments we Have heard or even fancied here.
There blooming cheeks will never fade, Our hearts will there beat light and free—There gloomy sorrow never comes. There sighs and tears will never be.
If trembling limbs and feeble steps Will only bear us to that shore, How joyfully we'll journey on To dwell in bliss tor evermore.