Don't fight with the pillow, but lay down your head And kick every worriment out of the bed.

Perhaps the reward of the spirit who tries Is not the goal but the exercise.

Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce Or a trouble is what you make it, And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts, But only how did you take it.

But maybe prayer is a road to rise, A mountain path leading toward the skies To assist the spirit who truly tries. But it isn't a shibboleth, creed, nor code, It isn't a pack-horse to carry your load, It isn't a wagon, it's only a road. And perhaps the reward of the spirit who tries Is not the goal, but the exercise!

Kisses kept are wasted; Love is to be tasted. There are some you love, I know; Be not loathe to tell them so. Lips go dry and eyes grow wet Waiting to be warmly met. Keep them not in waiting yet; Kisses kept are wasted.

Don't fight with the pillow, but lay down your head And kick every worriment out of the bed.

You may batter your way through the thick of the fray, You may sweat, you may swear, you may grunt; You may be a jack-fool, if you must, but this rule Should ever be kept at the front;-- Don't fight with your pillow, but lay down your head And kick every worriment out of the bed.