My simple daily fare,
In my little tiny mug,
How fain was I to share
With Cato on the rug.
Yes, he gave his honest paw,
And he lick'd my happy face,
He was true to Nature's law,
And I thought it no disgrace.
There's a voice so soft and clear,
And a step so gay and light,
That charms my listening ear
In the visions of the night.
And my father bids me haste,
In the deep, fond tones of love,
And leave this dreary waste,
For brighter realms above.
Now I am old and grey,
My bones are rack'd with pain,
And time speeds fast away -
But why should I complain?
There are joys in life's young morn
That dwell not with the old.
Like the flowers the wind hath torn,
From the strem, all bleak and cold.
The weary heart may mourn
O'er the wither'd hopes of youth,
But the flowers so rudely shorn
Still leave the seeds of truth.
And there's hope for hoary men
When they're laid beneath the sod;
For we'll all be young again
When we meet around our God.
