When my hair is thin and silvered, and my time of toil is through;

When I've many years behind me, and ahead of me a few;

I shall want to sit, I reckon, sort of dreaming in the sun;

And recall the roads I've traveled and the many things I've done.

I hope there'll be no picture that I'll hate to look upon;

When the time to paint it better or to wipe it out, is gone.

I hope there'll be no vision of a hasty word I've said

That has left a trail of sorrow, like a whip welt sore and red.

And I hope my old age dreaming will bring back no bitter scene

Of a time when I was selfish, or a time when I was mean.

When I'm getting old and feeble, and I'm far along life's way,

I don't want to sit regretting any bygone yesterday.

I am painting now the picture that I'll want someday to see;

I am filling in a canvas that will soon come back to me.

Though nothing great is on it, and though nothing there is fine,

I shall want to look it over when I'm old, and call it mine.

So I do not dare to leave it while the paint is warm and wet,

With a single thing upon it that I later will regret.

-Author Unknown


Submitted by Sis. Cassandra Plew

North Industry Ecclesia, Ohio, U.S.A.

(with special thanks to Sis. Marie Washington)