My father's grandfather lives still, <br />His age is fourscore years and ten; <br />He looks a monument of time, <br />The agedest of aged men. <br /> <br /> <br />Though years lie on him like a load, <br />A happier man you will not see <br />Than he, whenever he can get <br />His great grandchildren on his knee. <br /> <br /> <br />When we our parents have displeased, <br />He stands between us as a screen; <br />By him our good deeds in the sun, <br />Our bad ones in the shade are seen. <br /> <br /> <br />His love's a line that's long drawn out, <br />Yet lasteth firm unto the end; <br />His heart is oak, yet unto us <br />It like the gentlest reed can bend. <br /> <br /> <br />A fighting soldier he has been- <br />Yet by his manners you would guess, <br />That he his whole long life had spent <br />In scenes of country quietness. <br /> <br /> <br />His talk is all of things long past, <br />For modern facts no pleasure yield- <br />Of the famed year of forty-five, <br />Of William, and Culloden's field. <br /> <br /> <br />The deeds of this eventful age, <br />Which princes from their thrones have hurled, <br />Can no more interest wake in him <br />Than stories of another world. <br /> <br /> <br />When I his length of days revolve, <br />How like a strong tree he hath stood, <br />It brings into my mind almost <br />Those patriarchs old before the flood.<br /><br />Charles Lamb<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-great-grandfather/
