At Seventy

Seven decades bring Life so near its close, It seems wise to take Time for calm repose; So, I lay aside Many dear desires— Lock the door of dreams, Bank ambition’s fires.

Broken bones will mend, Wounded flesh will heal; Stricken hearts retain Power to throb and feel; But a spirit tried As my soul has been, Loses strength to fight, And the will to win.

I am reconciled— Proud of every scar; Discontent shall not Future pleasures mar; Youth was blessed with hopes That have ceased to be; Grant to age instead, Sweet tranquility.