Backward and forward each throwing his shuttle, / Death ending all with a knife.

Grow old with me, the best is yet to be.

What I aspired to be! And was not, comforts me

What Youth deemed crystal, Age finds out was dew

Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!'

And let them pass, as they will too soon, / With the bean-flowers' boon, / And the blackbird's tune, / And May, and June!