| 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. |