GETTIN’ ON.

WHEN I wuz somewhat younger, I wuz reckoned purty gay; I had my fling at everything In a rollickin', coltish way. But times have strangely altered Since sixty years ago— This age of steam an' things don't seem Like the age I used to know. Your modern innovations Don't suit me, I confess, As did the ways of the good ol' days,— But I'm gettin' on, I guess.

I set on the piazza, An' hitch round with the sun; Sometimes, mayhap, I take a nap, Waitin' till school is done. An' then I tell the children The things I done in youth,— An' near as I can, as a vener'ble man, I stick to the honest truth,— But the looks of them 'at listen Seem sometimes to express The remote idee that I'm gone—you see?— An' I am gettin' on, I guess.

I get up in the mornin', An', nothin' else to do, Before the rest are up an' dressed, I read the papers through. I hang round with the women All day an' hear 'em talk; An' while they sew or knit I show The baby how to walk. An', somehow, I feel sorry When they put away his dress An' cut his curls ('cause they're like a girl's!)— I'm gettin' on, I guess.

Sometimes, with twilight round me, I see, or seem to see, A distant shore where friends of yore Linger an' watch for me. Sometimes I've heered 'em callin' So tender-like 'nd low That it almost seemed like a dream I dreamed, Or an echo of long ago; An' sometimes on my forehead There falls a soft caress, Or the touch of a hand,—you understand,— I'm gettin' on, I guess.