Grandma Franklin passed away,
shortly after her 104th,
birthday. :(

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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 quite well,
But I am not the shell.

What if my hair is turning gray?
"Gray hairs are honorable," they say.
What if my eyesight's growing dim?
I still can see to follow Him,
Who sacrificed His life fo me,
Upon the cross of Calvary.

My hearing may not be as keen,
As in the past it had been.
Still I can hear my Saviour say,
In whispers soft, "This is the way."

Why should I care if old Time's plow,
Has left its furrow on my brow?
Another house not made with hands,
Awaits me in the glory land.

What though I falter in my walk?
What though my tongue refuse to talk?
I still can tread the narrow way,
I still can watch, and praise, and pray.

The outward man, do what I can,
To lenghten out this life's short span,
Shall perish and return to dust,
As everything in nature must.

This inward man, the Scripture say,
Is growing stronger day by day,
Than how can I be growing old,
When safe within my saviour's fold?

All text rewritten from Paxton
Newspaper, March 31st, 2000