THE AGED.
I LOVE the aged; —every silver hair On their time-honoured brows, speaks to my heart In language of the past; each furrow there, In all my best affections claims a part; Next to our God and Scripture's holy page, Is deepest rev'rence due to virtuous age.
The aged Christian stands upon the shore Of Time, a storehouse of experience, Fill'd with the treasures of rich heav'nly lore; I love to sit and hear him draw from thence Sweet recollections of his journey past, A journey crowned with blessings to the last.
Lovely the aged! when like shocks of corn, Full ripe and ready for the reaper's hand, Which garners for the resurrection morn The bodies of the just, —in hope they stand. And dead must be the heart, the bosom cold, Which warms not with affection for the old.