YOU'RE growing old ? Your task is done ?
And now you rest with setting sun,
Lamenting that your work is o'er,
That you can't labor any more ?

Ah, weary not to do God's will !
Go, labor on, your task fulfill.
You'll always have the Master's care -
The oldest trees some fruit must bear ;

For age has labors none the less
Than youth, though in another dress.
As evening twilight fades away
New glories shine, not seen by day