Cover them over with beautiful flowers, Deck them with garlands, those brothers of ours, Lying so silent by night and by day Sleeping the years of their manhood away. Give them the meed they have won in the past; Give them the honors their future forcast; Give them the chaplets they won in the strife; Give them the laurels they lost with their life.

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.

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

Worm or beetle - drought or tempest - on a farmer's land may fall, Each is loaded full o' ruin, but a mortgage beats 'em all.

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!

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.