Never, my heart, wilt thou grow old!
My hair is white, my blood runs cold,
And one by one my pow­ers de­part,
But youth sits smil­ing in my heart.

Down hill the path of age! oh, no;
Up, up with pa­tient steps I go;
I watch the skies fast bright­en­ing there,
I breathe a sweet­er, pur­er air.

Beside my road small tasks spring up,
Though but to hand the cool­ing cup,
Speak the true word of hear­ty cheer,
Tell the lone soul that God is near.

Beat on, my heart, and grow not old!
But when thy puls­es all are told,
Let me, though work­ing, lov­ing still,
Kneel as I meet my Fa­ther’s will.