In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining, <br />May my lot no less fortunate be <br />Than a snug elbow-chair can afford for reclining, <br />And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea; <br />With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn, <br />While I carol away idle sorrow, <br />And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn <br />Look forward with hope for tomorrow. <br /> <br />With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too, <br />As the sunshine or rain may prevail; <br />And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too, <br />With a barn for the use of the flail; <br />A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game, <br />And a purse when a friend wants to borrow; <br />I'll envy no Nabob his riches or fame, <br />Nor what honours may wait him tomorrow. <br /> <br />From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely <br />Secured by a neighbouring hill; <br />And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly <br />By the sound of a murmuring rill; <br />And while peace and plenty I find at my board, <br />With a heart free from sickness and sorrow, <br />With my friends may I share what today may afford, <br />And let them spread the table tomorrow. <br /> <br />And when I at last must throw off this frail cov'ring <br />Which I've worn for threescore years and ten, <br />On the brink of the grave I'll not seek to keep hov'ring, <br />Nor my thread wish to spin o'er again; <br />But my face in the glass I'll serenely survey, <br />And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow; <br />As this old worn-out stuff, which is threadbare today, <br />May become everlasting tomorrow.<br /><br />William Taylor Collins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-downhill-of-life-2/
