Havre Daily News - News you can use

As we grow old, our hair turns gray, oh, yeah! We're made of clay.

Where's the thrill of yesteryear? We sit alone each day.

We miss our dear ones, oh, so much, Lord, help us when we're low!

Our bodies healing takes so long ... of this You surely know.

Empty, lonely, lower that dirt; our dear ones died, they're gone.

Oh, Lord, we ache and still we hurt, why do we linger on?

Useless, hopeless, we're like dead trees. Where's hope in our last days?

If we have strength to read Your Word, we'd sit here, giving You praise.

If we're too weak to read much more, lead us safe, Your way...