I’m Not Growing Old
They say that I am growing old
I’ve heard them say 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 full well
But I’m not growing old.
What if my hair has turned gray
Gray hair is honorable, they say
What if my eye sight’s growing dim
I can still see to follow Him
Who sacrificed His life for me
There on the cross of Calvary
Why should I care if time’s old plow
Has dug some furrows in my brow.
Another house not made with hand
Awaits me in the glory land.
My hearing may not be as keen
As in the past, it may have been
Still I can hear my Savior say
Come faltering child, this is the way.
The outward man, do what I can
To lengthen out this life’s short span
Shall perish and return to dust
As everything in nature must.
But the inward man the Scriptures say
Ah, the inward man
Is growing stronger every day.
Then how can I be growing old’
I’m safe within the Saviour’s fold
‘Er long my soul shall fly away
And leave this tenement of clay
This robe of flesh I’ll drop and rise
To seize the everlasting prize
I’ll meet you on the streets of gold
And prove that I’m not growing old.
—John E. Roberts