Classic Poem

Friend, I was young when you were old,
Now old am I, and young are you,
For you continually behold
A Vision that makes all things new;
And love is still a tale untold,
And still your Hermon has its dew.

Space is not measured by the mile,
Nor Life Eternal by the year;
You are immortal, and you smile
At mortal pain and mortal fear,
Knowing that in a little while
The Sun of Glory will appear.