Wednesday, February 11, 2015

tattered and torn....Jimmy carried this poem in his wallet until if fell apart

Not Growing Old

They say that I'm growing old,
I've heard them tell it times untold
In language plain and bold;
But I'm not growing old !

This frail shell in which I dwell
Is growing old, I know full well...
But I'm not the shell!

What if my hair is turning gray ?
Gray hair's honorable, they say.
What if my eyesight's growing dim ?
I can see to follow Him !

Who sacrificed His love for me
Upon the Cross of Calvary.
What should I care if Time's old plough
Has left its furrow on my brow ?

Another house---not made with hand---
Awaits me in the Glory Land!
What though I falter in my walk ?
What though my tongue refuse 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 Savior say
In whispers soft, "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 Savior'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 !

By John E. Roberts

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Love this. Love jimmy<3