Charles H. Spurgeon on Psalms 71:18

With years oppressed, with sorrows worn,

Dejected, harassed, sick, forlorn,

To thee, O God, I pray;

To thee my withered hands arise,

To thee I lift these failing eyes:

Oh, cast me not away!

Thy mercy heard my infant prayer;

Thy love, with all a mother's care,

Sustained my childish days:

Thy goodness watched my ripening youth,

And formed my heart to love thy truth,

And filled my lips with praise.

O Saviour! has thy grace declined?

Can years affect the Eternal Mind,

Or time its love destroy?

A thousand ages pass thy sight,

And all their long and weary flight

Is gone like yesterday.

Then, even in age and grief, thy name

Shall still my languid heart inflame,

And bow my faltering knee:

Oh, yet this bosom feels the fire,

This trembling hand and drooping lyre,

Have yet a strain for thee!

Yes, broken, tuneless still, O Lord,

This voice, transported, shall record

Thy goodness tried so long;

Till, sinking slow, with calm decay,

Its feeble murmurs melt away,

Into a seraph's song. —Sir Robert Grant.