What if, in both, life’s bloomy flush was lost,
And their full autumn felt the mellowing frost?
Yet time, who blow’d the rose of youth away,
Had left the vigorous stem without decay;
Like those tall elms in Farmer Frankford’s ground,
They’ll grow no more, - but all their growth is sound;
By time confirm’d and rooted in the land,
The storms they’ve stood, still promise they shall stand.
These are the happier pairs, their life has rest,
Their hopes are strong, their humble portion blest.