AH, how well do I remember, 

When a little prattling child, 

How my silvery-headed grandsire, 

With his eyes so blue and mild, 

Would lift me gently to his knee, 

And in tones of tenderest love 

Talk to me of heavenly things,— 

Of the glorious home above. 

I would gaze with rapt attention 

On that dear, old, wrinkled face, 

As he told me of the Saviour's love, 

And the wondrous plan of grace. 

Those gracious lessons that he taught 

I have never yet forgot; 

And in this sinful heart of mine, 

Jesus a change has wrought. 

Years rolled away, and the worn old man 

Had kept his armor bright; 

He fearlessly waited the grim approach 

Of Death, with its darksome night. 

"Sweet fields," he cried, "beyond the flood, 

In living green, there wait; 

The Tender Shepherd will waken me, 

I shall pass through the pearly gate." 

We laid him away on the calm hillside, 

Beneath the daisies' bloom, 

And angels of God their vigils keep, 

Above his lonely tomb. 

With folded hands and brow of snow, 

We left him there to rest, 

After the journey of life was o'er, 

On green earth's mother-breast. 

Children, who read these simple lines, 

Do you honor the hoary head? 

Are you striving, 

With Jesus' help, each day 

The narrow path to tread? 

If faithful, on fair Mount Zion's height 

You will endless youth enjoy, 

You shall taste of joys that are full and sweet, 

Of pleasures without alloy.