The Old Man

Lo! steadfast and serene,      In patient pause between      The seen and the unseen,         What gentle zephyrs fan      Your silken silver hair, -      And what diviner air      Breathes round you like a prayer,         Old Man?      Can you, in nearer view      Of Glory, pierce the blue      Of happy Heaven through;         And, listening mutely, can      Your senses, dull to us,      Hear Angel-voices thus,      In chorus glorious -         Old Man?      In your reposeful gaze      The dusk of Autumn days      Is blent with April haze,         As when of old began      The bursting of the bud      Of rosy babyhood -      When all the world was good,         Old Man.      And yet I find a sly      Little twinkle in your eye;      And your whisperingly shy         Little laugh is simply an      Internal shout of glee      That betrays the fallacy      You'd perpetrate on me,         Old Man.      So just put up the frown      That your brows are pulling down!      Why, the fleetest boy in town,         As he bared his feet and ran,      Could read with half a glance -      And of keen rebuke, perchance -      Your secret countenance,         Old Man.      Now, honestly, confess:      Is an old man any less      Than the little child we bless         And caress when we can?      Isn't age but just a place      Where you mask the childish face      To preserve its inner grace,         Old Man?      Hasn't age a truant day,      Just as that you went astray      In the wayward, restless way,         When, brown with dust and tan,      Your roguish face essayed,      In solemn masquerade,      To hide the smile it made,         Old Man?      Now, fair, and square, and true,      Don't your old soul tremble through,      As in youth it used to do         When it brimmed and overran      With the strange, enchanted sights,      And the splendors and delights      Of the old "Arabian Nights,"         Old Man?      When, haply, you have fared      Where glad Aladdin shared      His lamp with you, and dared         The Afrite and his clan;      And, with him, clambered through      The trees where jewels grew -      And filled your pockets, too,         Old Man?      Or, with Sinbad, at sea -      And in veracity      Who has sinned as bad as he,         Or would, or will, or can? -      Have you listened to his lies,      With open mouth and eyes,      And learned his art likewise,         Old Man?      And you need not deny      That your eyes were wet as dry,      Reading novels on the sly!         And review them, if you can      And the same warm tears will fall -      Only faster, that is all -      Over Little Nell and Paul,         Old Man!      Oh, you were a lucky lad -      Just as good as you were bad!      And the host of friends you had -         Charley, Tom, and Dick, and Dan;      And the old School-Teacher, too,      Though he often censured you;      And the girls in pink and blue,         Old Man.      And - as often you have leant,      In boyish sentiment,      To kiss the letter sent         By Nelly, Belle, or Nan -      Wherein the rose's hue      Was red, the violet blue -      And sugar sweet - and you,         Old Man, -      So, to-day, as lives the bloom,      And the sweetness, and perfume      Of the blossoms, I assume,         On the same mysterious plan      The Master's love assures,      That the selfsame boy endures      In that hale old heart of yours,         Old Man.