Classic Poem

My son, attentive hear the voice of truth;
Remember thy Creator in thy youth,
Ere days of pale adversity appear,
And age and sorrow fill the gloomy year,
When wearied with vexation thou shalt say,
‘No rest by night I know, no joy by day;’
Ere the bright soul's enlighten'd pow'rs wax frail,
Ere reason, memory, and fancy fail,
But care succeeds to care, and pain to pain,
As clouds urge clouds, returning after rain:
Ere yet the arms unnerv'd and feeble grow,
The weak legs tremble, and the loose knees bow;
Ere yet the grinding of the teeth is o'er,
And the dim eyes behold the sun no more;
Ere yet the pallid lips forget to speak,
The gums are toothless, and the voice is weak;
Restless he rises when the lark he hears
Yet sweetest music fails to charm his ears.
A stone, or hillock turns his giddy brain,
Appall'd with fear he totters o'er the plain;
And as the almond-tree white flow'rs displays,
His head grows hoary with the length of days;
As leanness in the grashopper prevails,
So shrinks his body, and his stomach fails;
Doom'd to the grave his last long home to go,
The mourners march along with solemn woe:
Ere yet life's silver cord be snapt in twain,
Ere broke the golden bowl that holds the brain,
Ere broke the pitcher at the fountful heart,
Or life's wheel shiver'd, and the soul depart.
Then shall the dust to native earth be given,
The soul shall soar sublime, and wing its way to heaven.