You are old, Father William, the young man cried, <br />The few locks which are left you are grey; <br />You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man, <br />Now tell me the reason I pray. <br /> <br />In the days of my youth, Father William replied, <br />I remember'd that youth would fly fast, <br />And abused not my health and my vigour at first <br />That I never might need them at last. <br /> <br />You are old, Father William, the young man cried, <br />And pleasures with youth pass away, <br />And yet you lament not the days that are gone, <br />Now tell me the reason I pray. <br /> <br />In the days of my youth, Father William replied, <br />I remember'd that youth could not last; <br />I thought of the future whatever I did, <br />That I never might grieve for the past. <br /> <br />You are old, Father William, the young man cried, <br />And life must be hastening away; <br />You are chearful, and love to converse upon death! <br />Now tell me the reason I pray. <br /> <br />I am chearful, young man, Father William replied, <br />Let the cause thy attention engage; <br />In the days of my youth I remember'd my God! <br />And He hath not forgotten my age.<br /><br />Robert Southey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-man-s-comforts-and-how-he-gained-them/
