Ah! don't be sorrowful, darling,
And don't be sorrowful, pray;
For taking the year together, my dear,
There isn't more night than day.
'Tis rainy weather, my darling;
Time's waves they heavily run;
But taking the year together, my dear,
There isn't more cloud than sun.
We are old folks now, my darling,
Our heads are growing gray;
And taking the year together, my dear,
You will always find the May.
We have had our May, my darling,
And our roses long ago;
And the time of year is coming, my dear,
For the silent night and snow.
And God is God, my darling,
Of night as well as day,
And we feel and know that we can go
Wherever he leads the way.
Ay, God of night, my darling;
Of the night of death so grim;
The gate that leads out of life, good wife,
Is the gate that leads to him.
For age is opportunity no less
Than youth itself, though in another dress,
And as the evening twilight fades away
The sky is filled with stars invisible by day.
At sixty-two life has begun;
At seventy-three begin once more;
Fly swifter as thou near'st the sun,
And brighter shine at eighty-four.
At ninety-five
Shouldst thou arrive,
Still wait on God, and work and thrive.
--Oliver Wendell Holmes.
For what is age but youth's full bloom,
A riper, more transcendent youth?
A weight of gold is never old.
Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die,
Nor leave thee, when gray hairs are nigh,
A melancholy slave;
But an old age serene and bright,
And lovely as a Lapland night,
Shall lead thee to thy grave.
--William Wordsworth.
Fill, brief or long, my granted years
Of life with love to thee and man;
Strike when thou wilt, the hour of rest,
But let my last days be my best.
--John Greenleaf Whittier.
An age so blest that, by its side,
Youth seems the waste instead.
--Robert Browning.