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Cheer For Old Age

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When we are growing old,

They say in mournful accents

That our "tale is told;"

They sigh when talking of the past,

The days that used to be,

As if the future were not bright

With immortality.

Bur, oh, it is not going down;

It’s climbing high and higher,

Until we almost see the mansions

That our souls desire;

For if the natural eye grows dim,

It is but dim to earth,

While the eye of faith grows keener

To perceive the Saviour’s worth.

Who would exchange, for shooting blade,

The waving golden grain,

Or when the corn is fully ripe,

Would wish it green again;

And who would wish the hoary head,

Found in the way of Truth,

To be again encircled with

The sunny locks of youth?

For though, in truth, the outward man

Must perish and decay,

The inward man shall be renewed

By grace from day to day.

They who are planted by the Lord,

Unshaken by their root,

E’en in old age shall flourish still,

And still shall bring forth fruit.

(Author Unknown)