Alas! I’m growing old, my hair, once thick and brown,
Is now quite white and silky, and sparse about the crown;
A year, that once seemed endless, now, passes like a dream,
Yet my boat still rides the billows, as it floats along the stream.
My eye, once like the eagle’s, is now much dimmed by age,
And art alone enables me to read the printed page,
Yet still it rests with quickened glance upon each lovely scene.
As years roll by with silent pace and changes come between.
Life is full of gladness if we but make it so,
There’s not a wave of sorrow but has an undertow.