Not Growing Old

NOT GROWING OLD

They say that I am growing old,
I've heard them tell it times untold
In language plain and bold.
But I'm not growing old.
This frail old shell in which I dwell
Is growing old I know full well;
But I am not the shell.

What if my hair is turning gray?
Gray hair is honorable they say.
What if my sight is growing dim?
I still can see to follow Him
Who sacrificed His life for me,
Upon the cross of Calvary.

What should I care if time's old plow
Has left it's furrows on my brow?
Another house not made with hands
Awaits me in the Glory Land.
And though I falter in my walk
I still can tread the narrow way,
I still can watch and sing and pray.

My hearing may not be so keen
As in the past it has been
Still I can hear my Savior say
In voice so soft, "This is the way".
The natural man does what he can
To lengthen out this life's short span;
Who shall perish and return to dust,
As everything in nature must.
The inward man the scriptures say
Is growing stronger every day.

Then how can I be growing old?
When safe within my Savior's fold
'Ere long my soul shall fly away
And leave this tenement of clay.
This robe of flesh I'll drop, and rise
To seize the everlasting prize,
I'll meet you on the streets of gold
And prove that I'm not growing old!

-John E. Roberts