GROWING OLD 
A little more tired at the close of the day; 
A little less anxious to have our way; 
A little less ready to scold and blame; 
A little more care of a brother's name; 
And So we are nearing the journey*s end 
Where time and eternity meet and blend. 
A little less care for bonds and gold^ 
A little more zest in the days of old^ 
A broader view and a saner mind. 
And a little more love for all mankind; 
And so v)e are faring a-down the way 
That leads to the gates of a better day. 
A little more love for the friends of youths 
A little less zeal for an estabished truths 
A little more charity in our views^ 
A little less thirst for the daily news; 
And so we are folding our tents away 
And passing in silence at close of day. 
A little more leisure to sit and dream^ 
A little more real the things unseen, 
A little nearer to those ahead, 
With visions of those long-loved and dead; 
And so we are going to where all must go. 
To the place the living may never know. 
A little more laughter, a few more tears. 
And we shall have told our increasing years; 
The book is closed and the prayers are said. 
And we are a part of the countless dead. 
Thrice happy, then, if some soul can say: 
“/ lived because he has passed my way.** 
Rollin J. Wells. 
A bit of ground, to tinker * round, 
A little patch, to dig and scratch, 
A rake and hoe, to make things grow. 
Some flowers blue, a babe or two - 
What*8 left to want? I ask of you\ 
—Fred Smidley. 
