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Softly O! softly the years have swept by thee,
Touching thee lightly with tenderest care;
Sorrow and care did they often bring nigh thee;
Yet they have left thee but beauty to wear.
Growing old gracefully,
Gracefully fair.

Far from the storms that are lashing the ocean,
Nearer each day to the pleasant home light;
Far from the waves that are big with commotion,
Under full sail and the harbor in sight,
Growing old cheerfully,
Cheerfully bright.

Past all the winds that were adverse and chilling,
Past all the islands that lured thee to rest;
Past all the currents that wooed thee unwilling
Far from the port of the land of the blest,
Growing old peacefully,
Peacefully blest.

Never a feeling of envy or sorrow,
When the bright faces of children are seen,
Never a year from their youth wouldst thou borrow;
Thou dost remember what lieth between,
Growing old willingly,
Gladly, I ween.

Rich in experience that Angels might covet,
Rich in a faith that has grown with thy years:
Rich in the love that grew from and above it;
Smoothing thy sorrows and hushing thy fears.
Growing old wealthily,
Loving and dear.

Hearts at the sound of thy coming are lightened,
Ready and willing thy hand to relieve;
Many a face at thy kind words has brightened,
"It is more blessed to give than receive!"
Growing old happily,
Blest, we believe.

Washington, D.C., May, 1881.