Backward I look o'er three score years and ten,
To the dear home upon the mountain side,
Its glorious prospect opening far and wide,
With verdant fields, wild woods, and haunts of men.
Brothers and sisters—seven blithe souls were we—
Father and mother, then a happy band—
Now I alone remain, and waiting stand,
Till the dark gate shall open unto me.
Could I bring back one day of that far time,
With the dear friends that gathered round our hearth,
Childhood and youth, and manhood's noble prime.
I've dreamed I could resign all else on earth.
But all those years of life have once been mine.
I've had my time, and why should I repine?