We Must Grow Old Poem by Timothy Thomas Fortune

We must grow old! The years go by,
Sometimes on wings they seem to fly;
But why such haste? We know not why!
We only know that we grow old!

Sometimes, alas! the years they go
As if with leaden feet, so slow
We faint from pain. We cannot know
Wherefore or why, but we grow old!

Each vanished year its own sad tale
Of disappointment, woe, and wail,
Adds to the score, until we fail,
Since we grow old! We must grow old.

The broken links of life's short chain
Can never find their place again;
The heart will bleed when pierced with pain,
When loved ones die, and we grow old.

Into the dark unknown we take
The hopes misfortune could not shake,
Pure as the mountain's snowy flake,
Where all is well—when we are old.