His shoulders are a little bent,
His youthful force a trifle spent,
But hes the finest man I know,
With heart of gold and hair of snow.
Hes seldom cross and never mean;
Hes always been so good and clean;
I only hope Ill always be
As kind to him as hes to me.
Sometimes hes tired and seems forlorn,
His happy face is lined and worn;
Yet he can smile when things are bad:
Thats why I like my gray-haired dad.
He doesnt ask the world for much
Just comfort, friendliness, and such;
But from the things Ive heard him say,
I know its up to me to pay.
For all the deeds hes done for me
Since I sat rocking on his knee;
Oh, not in dollars, dimes, or cents
Thats not a fathers recompense.
Nor does he worship wealth and fame
Hed have me honor Jesus name.