Classic Poem

My hair is gray—the flower of life is past
Time flies and Death approaches. In the wave
My setting sun is sinking overcast,
Hope is no more, and Peace is in the grave!

Long years of passion—grief and care have done
Their work—and left their records on my brow,
My lamp is almost out—my race is run—
Let the scene close!—It matters little now.

The best and worst are past—there lingers yet
But a faint pulse in these poor shrunken veins,
The world and I are even, and the debt
That all must pay is all that still remains.

Would it were paid!—I tire of my road—
'Tis hard to live unblessing and unblest—
Forgetting and forgot—I bear a load
Too far above my strength and fain would rest!