That I am
growing older, and will some day be old.
Keep me from
getting talkative, and particularly
from the fatal
habit of thinking that I must say
something
on every subject and on every occasion.
Release me from
craving to try to straighten out
everybody's
affairs.
Keep my mind
free from the recital of endless
details. Give
me wings to get to the point.
I ask for grace
enough to listen to the tales of
others' pains.
Help me to endure them with
patience.
But seal my lips on my own aches and
pains. They
are increasing and my love of rehearsing
them is becoming
sweeter as the years go by.
Teach me the glorious
lesson that occasionally it is
Keep me reasonably
sweet; I do not want to be a
saint...some
of them are so hard to live with
...but a sour
old person is one of the crowning
works of the
devil.
Make me thoughtful
but not moody; helpful but
not bossy.
With my vast store of wisdom, it seems
a pity not
to use it all, but Thou knowest, Lord,
that I want
a few friends at the end.
