  Never pray for idle hours,— Never try to shrink; But with all your honest powers Thank the Lord for work! Labor brings the pleasures high And the joys that thrive,— Where men laugh and where men cry, Dearest thing alive! Thank the Lord for strength to toil,— Thank him day by day,— Son of sky or son of soil On life's vagrant way. With a soul that fearless grows And a good arm strong, Joyously the glad heart goes Up the world of song! There was a young lady from Beaver Who feared that her fellow would leave her; So she popped to her beau; But he answered her "Neau"! And she called him a heartless deceiver! |
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