Over the hill to the poor-house I'm trudgin' my weary way.

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.

So I have talked with Betsey and Betsey has talked with me, And we have agreed together that we can't never agree

Boys flying kites haul in their white winged birds; You can't do that way when you're flying words. Careful with fire, is good advice we know Careful with words, is ten times doubly so. Thoughts unexpressed may sometimes fall back dead; But God Himself can't kill them when they're said.

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.

Over all our happy country - over all our Nation spread, Is a band of noble heroes - is our Army of the Dead.

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.