For a Gathering of the Aged.
Out from life’s hour glass we must see our sands have nearly run,
And we with social scenes in life shall surely soon have done.
Be this improved, then, for our good; our last days be our best,
And in the final gathering we be found among the blest.
On us is seen th’ effect of age; we see the furrowed brow.
Time’s stern realities o’ertake, and we are forced to bow.
Compared the once bright, sparkling eye, the rosy, blooming cheek,
Our present looks, infirmities, and form, do volumes speak.
Though some most helpless, others bowed, on all is seen decay,
There’re those o’er three-score years and ten who’re youthful, blithe, and gay.
Be such, then, hopeful, full of life, as may become us here.
There’s much at best t’ embitter life, to make it sad and drear.
We have unfading beauty here, if we have love divine,
Howe’er defaced by time and age will nature’s works outshine;
Its rays of light reflecting o’er this moral atmosphere,
Will still be seen and felt for good, though we may disappear.
This present meeting then will seem a little Heaven below,
Its influence, too, be spread abroad wherever we may go.
Be this the pleasing, glad result; and then in fadeless bloom,
We shall in beauty be arrayed beyond the silent tomb.