Do the work that's nearest, / Though it's dull at whiles, / Helping, when we meet them,/ Lame dogs over stiles.

We act as though comfort and luxury were the chief requirements of life, when all that we need to make us really happy is something to be enthusiastic about

For men must work and women must weep, And the sooner it's over the sooner to sleep, And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.

Tho' we earn our bread, Tom, By the dirty pen, What we can we will be, Honest Englishmen. Do the work that's nearest Though it's dull at whiles, Helping, when we meet them, Lame dogs over stiles.

When all the world is young, lad, / And all the trees are green; / And every goose a swan, lad / And every lass a queen; / Then hey for boot and horse, lad, / And round the world away: / Young blood must have its course, lad,/ And every dog his day.

Every Winter, When the great sun has turned his face away, The earth goes down into a vale of grief, And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables