I have lived fourscore years and upward; I never
heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning, so wide of
his own respect.
I have lived fourscore years and upward; I never
heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning, so wide of
his own respect.
Of no distemper, of no blast he died, But fell like autumn fruit that mellow'd long, Even wonder'd at, because he dropp'd no sooner. Fate seem'd to wind him up for fourscore years, Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more Till like a clock worn out with eating time, The wheels of weary life at last stood still.
That plain white-aproned man, who stood at work
Patient and accurate full fourscore years,
Cherished his sight and touch by temperance,
And since keen sense is love of perfectness
Made perfect violins, the needed paths
For inspiration and high mastery.
Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Nature is full of freaks, and now puts an old head on young shoulders, and then takes a young heart heating under fourscore winters.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories