Classic Poem

Just on the threshold of threescore-and-ten—
An upward pathway, shining more and more—
She heard the call, and passed within the door
Whence none that enters ever comes again.
Henceforth will Want await her step in vain,
Wise Charity will have a lessened store:
The beatings of a faithful heart are o'er,
And struggling Truth has lost a loyal brain.
Ah, foolish plaint! Hath God no other sphere
For virtue's use, and love, and loyalty,
That they should perish with the body's breath?
O noble Friend, thy life's long service here
Thou crownest now with its best ministry,
And quickenest faith beside the door of death!