_THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS, AND HOW HE GAINED THEM_
'You are old, Father William,' the young man cried,
'The few locks which are left you are grey;
You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man
Now tell me the reason, I pray.'
'In the days of my youth,' Father William replied,
'I remember'd that youth would fly fast,
And abused not my health and my vigour at first,
That I never might need them at last.'
'You are old, Father William,' the young man cried,
'And pleasures with youth pass away;
And yet you lament not the days that are gone,
Now tell me the reason, I pray.'
'In the days of my youth,' Father William replied,
I remember'd that youth could not last;
I thought of the future whatever I did,
That I never might grieve for the past.'
'You are old, Father William,' the young man cried,
'And life must be hastening away;
You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death,
Now tell me the reason, I pray.'
'I am cheerful, young man,' Father William replied,
'Let the cause thy attention engage;
In the days of my youth I remember'd my God,
And He hath not forgotten my age.'
_R. Southey_