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O L D A G E.
Walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore
13 TREMONT ROW.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860,
BY GEORGE COOLIDGE,
Electrotyped at the
Panrell & Woore, Pruters, Boston
POEMS OF OLD AGE.
THE world to me is growing gray and old ;
My friends are dropping one by one away ;
Some live in far-off lands - some in the clay Rest quietly, their mortal moments told.
My sire departed ere his locks were gray ;
My mother wept, and soon beside him lay ; My elder kin have long since gone — and I
Am left-a leaf upon an autumn tree,
Among whose branches chilling breezes steal
And when my offspring at our altar kneel
Their rising stature whispers unto me
THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE.
TEARS, idle tears, I know not what they mean.
Fresh as the first beam glittering on the sail
Ah, sad and strange, as in dark summer dawns
Dear as remembered kisses after death,
BEAUTY IN OLD MEN.
The grief-softened tread,
And the dear gray head.
And the lines of care ;
Makes men always fair.
By the wayside, on a mossy stone,
Sat a hoary pilgrim, sadly musing;
Coat as ancient as the form 'twas folding,
There he sat!