And while peace and plenty I find at my board,
With a heart free from sickness and sorrow,
With my Friends I will share what to-day may afford,
And let them spread the Table To-morrow.
And when I at last must throw off this frail cov’ring,
Which I’ve worn for Threescore Years and Ten,
On the brink of the grave I’ll not seek to keep hov’ring,
Nor my thread wish to spin o’er again;
But my face in the glass I’ll serenely survey,
And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow;