By Edward Lewis Pogson

This poem was read out at his funeral as the family felt that it helped to sum up his life.


‘Tis a time to think when you’re growing old,

When the days grow short and the nights grow cold.

The eyes grow dim, yet still they see,

Through the mists of time,



A time to remember long ago,

Of a happy childhood spent like a summer’s morn,

One fleeting moment stay, that I may still recall,

Ere my memory fails and I wonder not,



Of a time of youth my life to live,

But cared not I, for the earth was warm and

The joys of loving ours to give.

Would I not linger yet again by the purple hills and unlit plain,



Of a manhood rudely spent,

On foreign soil on warfare bent,

A time of action, no time to think,

Regrets, remorse,



Of a time of marriage, loving, caring.

My bride all others thus forsaking.

Being father, teaching, learning.

But most of all as the years go by,



Of a time of sons all tall and three,

Bright of eye and parents’ pride,

All separate ways in life must weave,

A pattern in the mind of each,



On a life matured by wisdom’s touch,

Reflect upon these priceless thoughts.

But wonder not at what was spring,

The past is mine,




©Edward Lewis Pogson 1978