It is not gold alone that worths the coin;
The rightful, legal stamp the gold must join.
'Tis not the figured note which is of worth,
Which value gives it thru the wide, wide earth;
It is the governmental sign and seal
Which makes it potent for the civil weal.
It is the silver's trace which tempers steel,
It is the life in blood that makes it heal.
So life, dear heart, is not of years alone,
Howe'er so many to the past have flown.
True living is not made of years, but deeds;
Of earnest prayer, not counting of the beads;
Of humble trust, not flight on fancy's wing;
Of toil and task which burdened years e'er bring;
Oft wrinkled brows, and weary, lagging brain;
Oft sleepless nights and anxious care and pain:
'Tis these write wrinkles on the fairest brow,
And bring the past and future into now,
And bow the form and silver o'er the hair,
And strengthen noble hearts, or bring despair.
But God, the Life, the Lord, the Hope of all,
Shapes up the task, lifts up the ones who fall;
Remolds the life; to character gives form,
And writes upon the heart His blessed norm
Of life; and makes the care-worn, wrinkled face
A blest expression of His own love's trace.
And so, dear heart, let courage come with years,
And rest in God; to Him give all thy fears,
And go thy way with blest and sweet content,
And know in Him are all our years well spent.
And as His life ne'er ends, no "finis" page,
So shall the years bring youth instead of age.
Immortal youth true characters contain,
Victorious over labor, strife, and pain,
Till past the years of earth by mortal trod,
Our life shall measure with the years of God.