Part 2 — LXXXVI

'You are old, Father William,' the young man cried, 'The few locks which are left you are grey; You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man Now tell me the reason, I pray.' 'In the days of my youth,' Father William replied, 'I remember'd that youth would fly fast, And abused not my health and my vigour at first, That I never might need them at last.' 'You are old, Father William,' the young man cried, 'And pleasures with youth pass away; And yet you lament not the days that are gone, Now tell me the reason, I pray.' 'In the days of my youth,' Father William replied, I remember'd that youth could not last; I thought of the future whatever I did, That I never might grieve for the past.' 'You are old, Father William,' the young man cried, 'And life must be hastening away; You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death, Now tell me the reason, I pray.' 'I am cheerful, young man,' Father William replied, 'Let the cause thy attention engage; In the days of my youth I remember'd my God, And He hath not forgotten my age.'