With a feeling half sadness, half mirth.

For the long white locks are our special pride,

Though he smiles at his daughter's praise;

But, oh, they have grown each year more thin,

Till they are now but a silvery haze.

That wise old head! (though it does grow bald

With the knocks hard fortune may give)

Has a store of faith and hope and trust,

Which have taught him how to live.[Pg 10]

[Pg 10]

Though the hat be old, there's a face below

Which telleth to those who look

The history of a good man's life,

And it cheers like a blessed book.

[A]A peddler of jewels, of clocks, and of books,

Many a year of his wandering youth;

A peddler still, with a far richer pack,

His wares are wisdom and love and truth.

But now, as then, few purchase or pause,

For he cannot learn the tricks of trade;

 Prev. P 7/12 next