When He Is Forsaken, Withered And Shaken,

It Was Not In The Winter Our Loving Lot Was Cast! It Was The Time Of Roses, We Plucked Them As We Passed!

Peace And Rest At Length Have Come, All The Day's Long Toil Is Past; And Each Heart Is Whispering, "home, Home At Last!"

There Is Not A String Attuned To Mirth But Has Its Chord Of Melancholy.

The Biggest Bore Of All Is He Who Is Overflowing With Congratulations

Bells Are Musics Laughter.