I can remember, with unsteady feet, Tottering from room to room, and finding pleasure In flowers, and toys, and sweetmeats, things which long Have lost their power to please; which when I see them, Raise only now a melancholy wish I were the little trifler once again, Who could be pleas'd so lightly.
In the days of my youth I remembered my God! And He hath not forgotten my age.
Man hath a weary pilgrimage, As through the word he wends; On every stage, from youth to age, Still discontent attends.
The true one of youth's love, proving a faithful helpmate in those years when the dream of life is over, and we live in its realities.
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