When I grow old why should I rest and slowly pine away
Mans closing years should be his best, so let the children play;
The idle life is not for men though slowly beats the heart.
So quicken thou my voice and pen for soon I shall depart.

This dying stallion fain would gain a smile on Jesus face,
He’ll take his rest beyond this plain beneath Gods love and grace;
Then let observers all declair a quickening of pace
His wrinkles and his graying hair needs not a breathing space.

Let others lie and idle, dream, when age begins to show
Bespectacled he sees the gleam when going fast, not slow.
Yea, friend the way, though long, it seem, seems quicker as we go
The dasher makes good yellow cream into the butter so.

We do not say we’ll go more fast, but always do lifes best,
And thank the Lord for our repast when we have stood the test.
Our life is like a puffing train its smoke is like our hair
And tortoise like we cross lifes plain to heavens rainbow fair.

H. E. Crane