The old man's cheek was wet with tears,
And his wrinkled brow was pale,
As after a lapse of many years
He stood in his native vale.

The warblers sang in the leafy bough,
And the earth was robed in green;
But the old man's heart beat sadly now
While he gazed on the lovely scene.

The stream ran clear to the distant sea,
The same as he saw it last;
And sitting beneath an old elm tree,
He thought of days in the past.

He thought how he climbed the verdant hill,
Or roved through the forest wild,
Or traced to its source the rippling rill,
A gay and careless child.

And as he thought of the happy throng
That around him used to crowd
With the ringing laugh and the joyous song,
The old man wept aloud.

For well he knew they would meet no more
On the dreary shores of time,—
But he looked away to a brighter shore,
He looked to a deathless clime.

That moment a young and merry group
Came bounding across the lea,
With rosy cheek, with ball and with hoop
They came to the old elm tree.

They paused awhile in their noisy play
To gaze on the aged man,
While he wiped his falling tears away
And in trembling tones began:

"I would not cloud for the world your joy,
Or have you less happy for me—
For I have been like yourselves a boy
Though I'm now the wreck you see.

"But let the words of wisdom and truth
In your memories be enrolled,—
And in the days of your sunny youth
Be kind to the poor and old!"

The children wept as they heard him speak,
And forgetful of their play
They wiped the tears from his furrowed cheek,
And they smoothed his locks of gray.

He laid his hand with a tender air
By turns on each youthful head,
Then lifting his faded eyes in prayer,
"God bless you!" the old man said.

And the boys were blest:—for the angels flung
Around them their wings of gold;
So ever they do when the gay and young
Are kind to the poor and old.