When I am Old

When I am old—and oh! how soon
Will life's sweet morning yield to noon,
And noon's broad, fervid, earnest light
Be shronded in the solemn night,
Till like a story well-nigh told
Will seem my life—when I am old.

When I am old—this breezy earth
Will lose for me its voice of mirth;
The streams will have an under-tone
Of sadness, not by right their own;
And spring's sweet pow'r in vain unfold
Its rosy charms—when I am old.

When I am old—I shall not care
To deck with flow'rs my faded hair;
'Twill be no vain desire of mine
In rich and costly dress to shine—
Bright jewels and the brightest gold
Will charm me nought—when I am old.

When I am old—my friends will be
Old and infirm and bow'd, like me;
Or else, their bodies "neath the sod,
Their spirits dwelling safe with God;
The old church bell will long have toll'd
Above their rest—when I am old.

When I am old—I'd rather bend
Thus sadly o'er each buried friend,
Than see them lose the earnest truth
That marks the friendship of our youth—
Twill be so sad to have them cold
Or strange to me—when I am old!

When I am old!—oh! how it seems
Like the wild lunacy of dreams,
To picture, in prophetic rhyme.
That dim, far-distant, shadowy time—
So distant, that it seems o'er bold
Even to say—"When I am old!"

When I am old!—Perhaps, ere then,
I shall be miss'd from haunts of men;
Perhaps my dwelling will be found
Beneath the green and quiet mound;
My name by stranger hands enroll'd
Among the dead—ere I am old.

Ere I am old!—That time is now,
For youth sits lightly on my brow;
My limbs are firm, and strong, and free—
Life has a thousand charms for me—
Charms that will long their influence hold
Within my heart—ere I am old.

Ere I am old—oh! let me give
My life to learning how to live!
Then shall I meet with willing heart
An early summons to depart,
Or find my lengthen'd days consoled
By God's sweet peace—when I am old.

Episcopal Recorder