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

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.

Cover them over with beautiful flowers, Deck them with garlands, those brothers of ours, Lying so silent by night and by day.

Thanksgiving-day, I fear, If one the solemn truth must touch, Is celebrated, not so much To thank the Lord for blessing o'er, As for the sake of getting more!

We thank Thee, O Father of all, for... all the soul-help that sad souls understand.

To appreciate heaven well, it's good for a person to have some fifteen minutes of hell.