Old Age Poem by Elizabeth Oakes Smith

Thy mission is accomplished— painter— sage,
Look to thy crown of glory— for thy brow
Is circled with its radiant halo now.
No more earth's turmoil will thy soul engage,
Its hopes unquiet, littleness, or rage.
With thine own voyager thou hast heard the sound
Of that vast ocean, waveless, rayless, dread,
Where time's perpetual tribute, circling round,
Drops silent in, all passionless and dead.
When thine own voyage is o'er, and thou shalt near
The eternal wave, thus, thus above thy head
May opening glories shield thy heart from fear;
A child again, but strong in faith and prayer,
Thou shalt look meekly up-behold thy God is there!