The poem
I asked a silver sage With race nigh run: 'Tell me in old of age Your wisdom won?' Said he: 'From fret and strife And vain vexation, The all I've learned from life Is--Resignation.'
I asked a Bard who thrummed A harp clay-cold: 'How is your story summed Now you are old?' Though golden voice was his, And fame had he, He sighed: 'The finish is --Futility.'
I'm old; I have no wealth Toil to reward; Yet for the boon of health I thank the Lord. While Beauty I can see, To live is good; And so life's crown to me Is--Gratitude