Comfort And Indolence Are Cronies.

The Quaker Loves An Ample Brim, A Hat That Bows To No Salaam; And Dear The Beaver Is To Him As If It Never Made A Dam.

It Was Not In The Winter Our Loving Lot Was Cast! It Was The Time Of Roses, We Plucked Them As We Passed!

And There Is Even A Happiness That Makes The Heart Afraid.

Pity It Is To Slay The Meanest Thing.

It Was A Childish Ignorance, But Now 'tis Little Joy To Know I'm Further Off From Heaven Than When I Was A Boy.