When I was a young man,
just barely seventeen,
I thought someday
that I might rule the world.
With everything I wished for
my life would be a song;
and everything would be just as I planned!
Oh, the dreams of a man of seventeen!
The day that I turned twenty-one
I thought the stage was set.
The road of life stretched wide
and I was free.
I saw the shine of amber eyes
and knew I’d found my queen!
The fabric of my life was nearly done!
Oh, the joy of a man of twenty-one!
The year that I turned forty
my world had come undone.
Alone I faced the winter’s discontent.
I’d gained the world of wealth
but I could not buy a friend.
Despair was all I ever hoped to see.
Oh to be a boy of seventeen!
Now, my years are eighty-three,
my eyes are growing dim.
But my memory is clear and I can see
that life does not consist
of what we see and touch.
But, rather, what we’ve given, Lord, to thee!
Oh, to be your man of eighty-three!