I'M GROWING OLD by R. F. C.

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Oct 15, 1872

“I'M GROWING OLD.”

By R. F. C.

[TAKING shelter from a shower in a deserted log house, I found pasted upon a beam a paper containing the following verses (with a slight alteration) under the above heading. R. F. C.]

I'm growing old—'tis surely so; And yet how short it seems Since I was but a sportive child, Enjoying childish dreams.

I cannot see the change that comes With such an even pace; I mark not when the wrinkles fall Upon my fading face.

I know I'm old; and yet my heart Is just as young and gay As e'er it was before my locks Of bright brown turned to gray.

I know these eyes to other eyes Look not so bright and glad As once they looked; and yet 'tis not Because my heart's more sad.

I never watched with purer joy The glowing clouds and skies, While glistening tears of rapture fill These old and fading eyes.

And when I mark the cheek where once The bright rose used to glow, It grieves me not to see instead The almond crown my brow.

I've seen the flower grow old and pale, And withered more than I; I've seen it lose its every charm, Then droop away and die.

And then I've seen it rise again, Bright as the beaming sky, And young and pure and beautiful— And felt that so shall I.

Then what if I am growing old— My heart is changeless still, And God has given me enough This loving heart to fill.

I love to see the sun go down, And lengthening shadows throw Along the ground, while o'er my head, The clouds in crimson glow.

I see, beyond those gorgeous clouds, A country bright and fair, Which needs no sun; God and the Lamb Its light and beauty are.

I seem to hear the wondrous song Redeemed sinners sing; And my heart leaps to join the throng To praise the heavenly King.

I seem to see three cherub boys, As hand in hand they go, With golden curls and snowy wings, Whose eyes with rapture glow.

When I was young, I called them mine— Death claimed them as his prey; But I shall claim my own again, In that bright, coming day.

Perhaps when met in Heaven above, They'll know from every other, The object of their earliest love, And haste to call me mother.

Oh! I am glad I'm growing old! For every day I spend Shall bring me one day nearer that Bright day that has no end.