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The War Cry | September 1, 2012
by
COMMISSIONER
FLORA LARSSON
elp me to grow old grace, Lord!
Even as I pray the words I smile to myself,
for physical grace is somewhat lacking
in my joints and movements.
Gone is the lightness of youth,
the supple swiftness,
each muscle part of a well�trained whole.
That kind of grace is beyond me now.
It's inward grace I crave, Master,
the grace of gratitude.
I call up the good memories,
relive happy scenes and savor brief triumphs.
It's been a long life, but a good life.
For all this (and much more) I thank You.
I ask too, Lord, for the grace of humor.
Help me still to see the funny side of living,
to enjoy a joke
to make a few myself!
To laugh when I fumble in my purse for coins
or when my memory slips a cog.
And then I ask for the grace of patience:
not to lose out
on the last lap of the race.
Jog me into lively interest in my surroundings,
in world events.
Don't let me settle into a snug, self�interested cocoon.
Keep me alert in mind,
even when the body responds reluctantly.
Lord, help me to grow old with grace.
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