Only The Rich Are Lonesome.

Oh, How With More Than Dreams The Soul Is Torn, Ere Sleep Comes Down To Soothe The Weary Eyes.

Washington Is The City Where The Big Men Of Little Towns Come To Be Disillusioned

A Crust Of Bread And A Corner To Sleep In. A Minute To Smile And An Hour To Weep In. A Pint Of Joy To A Peck Of Trouble, And Never A Laugh But The Moans Come Double. And That Is Life. A Crust And A Corner That Makes Love Precious, With A Smile To Warm And Tears To Refresh Us, And Joy Seems Sweeter When Cares Come After, And A Moan Is The Finest Of Foils For Laughter. And That Is Life.

It's All A Farce, - These Tales They Tell About The Breezes Sighing, And Moans Astir O'er Field And Dell, Because The Year Is Dying.

Poor Conceited Humanity! Interpreters Of God Indeed.