BRITTLE BONES.

Though I am an old man

With my bones very brittle,

Though I am a poor old man

Worth very little,

Yet I suck at my long pipe

At peace in the sun,

I do not fret nor much regret

That my work is done.

If I were a young man

With my bones full of marrow,

Oh, if I were a bold young man

Straight as an arrow,

And if I had the same years

To live once again,

I would not change their simple range

Of laughter and pain.

If I were a young man

And young was my Lily,

A smart girl, a bold young man,

Both of us silly.

And though from time before I knew

She'd stab me with pain,

Though well I knew she'd not be true,

I'd love her again.

If I were a young man

With a brisk, healthy body,

Oh, if I were a bold young man

With love of rum toddy,

Though I knew that I was spiting

My old age with pain,

My happy lip would touch and sip

Again and again.

If I were a young man

With my bones full of marrow,

Oh, if I were a bold young man

Straight as an arrow,

I'd store up no virtue

For Heaven's distant plain,

I'd live at ease as I did please

And sin once again.