Your life

What though I falter in my walk?

What though my tongue refuses to talk?

I still can tread the narrow way,

I still can watch and praise and pray

My hearing may not be as keen

As in the past, it may have been,

Still, I can hear my Saviour say,

In whispers softly, "This is the way."

The outward man, do what I can

To lengthen out this life's short span,

Shall perish, and return to dust,

As everything in nature must.

The inward man, the Scriptures say,

Is growing stronger every day.

Then how can I be growing old

When safe within my Saviour's fold?

Ere long my soul shall fly away

And leave this tenement of clay;

This robe of flesh I'll drop, and rise

To seize the "everlasting prize."

I'll meet you on the streets of gold,

And prove that I'm not growing old.

your life