And How Am I To Face The

Look Not In My Eyes, For Fear They Mirror True The Sight I See, And There You Find Your Face Too Clear And Love It And Be Lost Like Me.

Luck's A Chance, But Trouble's Sure.

Oh Who Is That Young Sinner With The Handcuffs On His Wrist? And What Has He Been After That They Groan And Shake Their Fists? And Wherefore Is He Wearing Such A Conscience-stricken Air? Oh They're Taking Him To Prison For The Colour Of His Hair.

The Bells They Sound On Bredon, And Still The Steeples Hum. "come All To Church, Good People"- Oh, Noisy Bells, Be Dumb; I Hear You, I Will Come.

Who Made The World I Cannot Tell; 'tis Made, And Here Am I In Hell. My Hand, Though Now My Knuckles Bleed, I Never Soiled With Such A Deed.