Oh, to be in England now that April's there.

Must in death your daylight finish? My sun sets to rise again.

How good is man's life, the mere living! How fit to employ all the heart and the soul and the senses forever in joy!

A pretty woman's worth some pains to see.

A people is but the attempt of many To rise to the completer life of one; And those who live as models for the mass Are singly of more value than they all.

Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!

Sing, riding 's a joy! For me I ride.