Though knowest better than I know myself
that I am growing older and will some day be old.
Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking
I must say something on every subject
and on every occasion.
Release me from craving to straighten out
everybody's affairs.
Make me thoughtful but not moody;
helpful but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom,
it seems a pity not to use it all,
but Thou knowest, Lord, that I want
a few friends at the end.
Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details;
give me wing to get to that point.
Seal my lips on my aches and pains.
They are increasing, and love of rehearsing them is
becoming sweeter as the years go by.
I dare not ask for grace enough to enjoy the tales of others' pains,
but help me to endure them with patience.
I dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing
humility and a lessening cocksureness
when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others.
Teach me the glorious lesson
that occasionally I may be mistaken.
Keep me reasonably sweet;
I do not want to be a Saint-
some of them are so hard to live with
- but a sour old person is one
of the crowning works of the devil.
Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places,
and talents in unexpected people.
And, give me, O Lord, the grace to tell them so.
- Author Unknown
