No Matter Where The Body Is, The

Teetotallers Lack The Sympathy And Generosity Of Men That Drink.

Pleasure's A Moth, That Sleeps By Day And Dances By False Glare At Night; But Joy's A Butterfly, That Loves To Spread Its Wings In Nature's Light.

What Sweet, What Happy Days Had I,when Dreams Made Time Eternity!

I Cannot See The Short, White Curls Upon The Forehead Of An Ox, But What I See Them Dripping With That Poor Thing's Blood, And Hear The Ax; When I See Calves And Lambs, I See Them Led To Death; I See No Bird Or Rabbit Cross The Open Field But What A Sudden Shot Is Heard; A Shout That Tells Me Men Aim True, For Death Or Wound, Doth Chill Me Through.

But Cats To Me Are Strange, So Strange I Cannot Sleep If One Is Near.