When one is young, there is no thought of growing old. That state was the condition of those who are of that age when we were youthful and full of days. But years steal upon us unawares like as dusk gently changes into night.
Youthful energy gives way to a more managed and regulated regime. There is no running to get aboard a leaving bus, rather the mind determines, ah well, I’ll catch the next. Experience is more relied upon than intuitive impetuosity, and speech more controlled than in the days of rashness.
But there are dangers in old age. The conflicts, afflictions and disappointments over many years of combating life’s exigencies, can have a two-fold effect. Either one grows old gracefully, or bitterly. Life can either turn to wine or vinegar, either to spiritual maturity or a degeneracy into spiteful enmity. Far better to follow the dictum of the Psalmist, "They shall still bring forth fruit in old age; they shall be fat and flourishing.” Someone wrote, “An old man is either a moving anatomy or a living mortuary. Age does not take away fruitfulness.”
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