What is it that makes a lifetime?
To hold the manly strength
Of youth's rejoicing strife-time
Till it reaches the Psalmist length?
Is it worth the strain of the long years' pain
To keep the body alive?
Would you rather be old at eighty
Or young at thirty-five?

The fairest tree in the orchard
That makes the Maytime bright,
By pest and the tempest tortured,
May droop with early blight.
And many a flame of a promising name
That men thought might survive
To light the world at eighty,
Dies down at thirty-five.

But if still the heart beat steady,
With Love as its only note,
And the world's need finds you ready
To pull in the common boat;
And you've learned that Beauty's the helpmate of Duty
To keep the soul alive:
Would you rather be young at eighty
Or old at thirty-five?