Growing Old

Let me grow like a tree with branches spreading wide and high,

Planted in the Lord’s garden, tended and spruced by the Most High.

Summer or frost, burned by the sun and buried by snow,

With autumn’s winds blowing my jewels low.

Nothing to fret and anxious for none, for the Lord’s promises surely does come.

Spring bursts from ancient boughs, laden with blessing for the fold.

Not time, heat, snow or wind could wither this tree,

Nor stop God’s goodness and faithfulness to reign free.

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