Autobiography of Lorenzo Snow Our former loved associates Have mostly passed away; While those we knew as children Are crowned with locks of gray. We saw Time's varied traces Were deep on every hand - Indeed, upon the people, More marked than on the land. The bands that once with firmness Could grasp the axe and blade, Now move with trembling motion, By strength of nerve decayed. The change in form and feature And furrows on the cheek Of Time's increasing volume, In plain, round numbers speak. And thus, as in a mirror's Reflection, we were told, With stereotyped impressions, The fact of growing old.
Eliza Roxey Snow (1804 - 1887)
Source: Autobiography of Lorenzo Snow, By Eliza R. Snow, p. 580.