Now sixty years to heaven, plus a few,

Awash in blessings time has rendered fair,

Hoping yet that many more accrue—

Though knowing four score years is counted fair.

I muse upon full many a morning sun

That graced the passage of my winding course,

Of battles lost and hard-fought victories won

The scars well-earned for better or for worse.

Not shirking duty, I did bear the cost

Of iron will, determined to succeed

And whether triumph crowned me—or was lost,

I drew my sword with pride and took the lead.

I weathered every blow, bore every scorn—

And never rued the day that I was born.