You are your own devil, you are your own God, You fashioned the paths that your footsteps have trod, And no one can save you from error or sin, Until you shall hark to the Spirit within.

How will it be when one of us alone Goes on that strange last journey of the soul? That certain search for an uncertain goal, That voyage on which no comradeship is known?

Always continue the climb. It is possible for you to do whatever you choose.

We ought to make the moments notes Of happy glad Thanksgiving; The hours and days, a silent praise Of music we are living.

Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear, your head like the golden rod, and we will go sailing away from here to the beautiful Land Of Nod.

Thou canst not force my soul to wish thee ill, That is the only evil that can kill.

I knew it the first of the summer, I knew it the same at the end, That you and your love were plighted, But couldn't you be my friend?