Classic Poem

I KNOW a man of many years,
Full ninety years and more,
On Summer-noons he oft appears
Outside his cottage-door.

And there with palsied hand will he
Sit knitting in the shade;
O, 'tis a curious sight to see
That old man at his trade.

In Winter by his chimney hole
He spends the livelong day,
With now and then a passing dole
From those who go that way.

For he is known the parish round,
And all the neighbourhood o'er;
And there has liv'd on that same ground
For ninety years and more.

No child has he, they all are gone,
And rest them in a row;
Last week he buried a younger son,
With hair as white as snow.

In his old prayer-book at the end,
Their ages you may see;
That prayer-book is his oldest friend,
And twice as old as he.

But yesterday I pass'd that way,
And miss'd him from his chair;
I saw that in distress he lay,
And gave what I could spare.

Then lifting up his clear blue eye,
With trembling voice he cried,
“May you be bless'd by God on high,
And Christ the crucified!”

O words of comfort, how did they
My heart with rapture fill!
And ever since, do what I may,
I seem to hear them still.

And ever to myself I sing
With a deep inward glee,
“Old man, it was a pleasant thing
To be thus bless'd by thee.”