Before the throne, the elder stood.

Not to plead but to say what’s good.

His years worn soft with mercy’s thread,

Few and hard, the life he led.

Pharaoh asked, “How old are you?”

Jacob sighed, with eyes so true:

“One hundred thirty years I’ve known,

Hard paths and winds that cut and groan.”

Yet he did not curse the toil or lack,

He blessed, then turned, and did not look back.

Twice he raised his hands in grace,

A patriarch in a foreign place.

Joseph, son of faithful trust,

Prepared the ground from seed to dust.

He gave the best the land could hold,

For aged hearts and children bold.

Food for all, enough for kin,

A legacy wrapped in God’s provision.

© Unknown Christian