By Maria Mulock Craik

Grandpapa’s hair is very white,
And Grandpapa walks but slow;
He likes to sit still in his easy-chair,
While the children come and go.
“Hush! – play quietly,” says Mama;
“Let nobody trouble dear Grandpapa.”

Grandpapa’s hand is thin and weak;
It has worked hard all his days:
A strong right hand, and an honest hand,
That has won all good men’s praise.
“Kiss it tenderly,” says Mama;
“Let every one honor Grandpapa.”

Grandpapa’s eyes are growing dim;
They have looked on sorrow and death;
But the love – light never went out of them,
Nor the courage and the faith.
“You children, all of you,” says Mama,
“Have need to look up to dear Grandpapa.”

Grandpapa’s years are wearing few,
But he leaves a blessing behind –
A good life lived, and a good fight fought,
True heart and equal mind.
“Remember, my children,” says Mama,
“You bear the name of your Grandpapa.”

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