And That Was The Way The Deuce

Not All The Labour Of The Earth Is Done By Hardened Hands.

If There's A Heaven Upon The Earth, A Fellow Knows It When He's Been Away From Home A Week, And Then Gets Back Again.

Over The Hill To The Poor-house I'm Trudgin' My Weary Way.

Yellow, Mellow, Ripened Days, Sheltered In A Golden Coating; O'er The Dreamy, Listless Haze, White And Dainty Cloudlets Floating; Winking At The Blushing Trees, And The Sombre, Furrowed Fallow; Smiling At The Airy Ease, Of The Southward Flying Swallow Sweet And Smiling Are Thy Ways, Beauteous, Golden Autumn Days.

I've Watched My Duty, Straight An' True, An' Tried To Do It Well; Part Of The Time Kept Heaven In View, An' Part Steered Clear Of Hell.