Some men in age can well contrive A hearty youth and true; May I, when I am seventy-five, Be half as young as you! To other men the decades bring Sad wrinkles of the mind, Dead branches where dead clusters cling, And frosty ways unkind. For you, with every added year, The tree of merry life Bourgeons with blessedness and cheer, With happy fruitage rife. Pray tell the other forest folk How, out of years and rain, You fashion such a sturdy oak, Leafage of heart and brain! And long may we whom God allows Around you, sapling-wise, Look through your green and sunny boughs Up to the sunny skies! |