The psalmist told us long ago

The psalmist told us long ago,
Our life is brief, and filled with woe.
Just seventy years, a fleeting breath,
And the secret leading to death..
And if you reach to eighty years,
It's toil and sickness, pain and tears.
Our days, like water, swiftly glide,
With nowhere left for us to hide.

The hands don't have the former might,
The day gives way so fast to night.
But wisdom shines within the eyes,
While in the soul, a child's fear lies.
And if you lived an honest way,
And conscience kept throughout your day,
Then silver hair is grace, not dread,
Thank God for all the life you've led.

When we were young, it seemed so clear,
That we had nothing left to fear.
A whole long life ahead, it seemed,
Of all the futures that we dreamed.
But youth is like a river's race,
It flashed and vanished without trace.
Now wisdom's gathered on the road,
And temples bear a silver load.

The hands don't have the former might,
The day gives way so fast to night.
But wisdom shines within the eyes,
While in the soul, a child's fear lies.
And if you lived an honest way,
And conscience kept throughout your day,
Then silver hair is grace, not dread,
Thank God for all the life you've led.