My clumsy fingers grasp the pen to write
What 'er my willing Muse may now indite;
To tell the measure of my days in rhyme,
And count the many years of by-gone time.
My merry, youthful years are years of yore,
My years of pilgrim life are ninety-four.
In view of Isaac Watt's poetic plan,
I've lived beyond the common age of man.
So swift my many fleeting years have run,
The mission of my life is nearly done.
And in the good All Father's hands I lay. Reconciled, passive as the potter's clay.
God bless my kind friends and relatives so dear,
They seek my mortal waning life to cheer.
And my returning wants supply each day,
Their great kindness I never can repay.
The evening of my life is calm and dear,
Firm trust in God casts our every fear.
God's will dictates the charities of man,
And secret wisdom carries out His plan.
O wisdom from above and all divine,
Thy works of love the morning sun outshine. My soul and all within me shout His praise. Whose tender loving mercies crown our days.

7036, Union Avenue. Englewood, Illinois.
December 19th, 1893