I Hide My Grief, Just Like The

To-day Is Thine To Spend, But Not To-morrow; Counting On Morrows Breedeth Bankrupt Sorrow: O Squander Not This Breath That Heaven Hath Lent Thee; Make Not Too Sure Another Breath To Borrow.

If I Don't Enjoy Myself Now, When Shall I?

Oh Thou, Who Man Of Baser Earth Didst Make, And Ev'n With Paradise Devise The Snake; For All The Sin Wherewith The Face Of Man Is Blackened - Man's Forgiveness Give And Take!

Why, All The Saints And Sages Who Discuss'd Of The Two Worlds So Wisely - They Are Thrust Like Foolish Prophets Forth; Their Words To Scorn Are Scattered, And Their Mouths Are Stopped With Dust.

You Know How Little While We Have To Stay, And, Once Departed, May Return No More.