Into quiet & tender joy by Fyodor Dostoevsk

But it is possible, it is possible: the old grief, by a great mystery
of human life, gradually passes into quiet, tender joy;
instead of young, ebullient blood comes a mild, serene old age:

I bless the sun's rising each day and my heart sings to
it as before, but now I love its setting even more, its long
slanting rays, and with them quiet, mild, tender memories,
dear images from the whole of a long and blessed life--and
over all is God's truth, moving, reconciling, all-forgiving!
Fyodor Dostoevsky