And Hear The Pleasant Cockoo, Loud And

I Cannot See The Short, White Curls Upon The Forehead Of An Ox, But What I See Them Dripping With That Poor Thing's Blood, And Hear The Ax; When I See Calves And Lambs, I See Them Led To Death; I See No Bird Or Rabbit Cross The Open Field But What A Sudden Shot Is Heard; A Shout That Tells Me Men Aim True, For Death Or Wound, Doth Chill Me Through.

When On A Summer's Morn I Wake, And Open My Two Eyes, Out To The Clear, Born-singing Rills My Bird-like Spirit Flies. To Hear The Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush, Or Any Bird In Song; And Common Leaves That Hum All Day Without A Throat Or Tongue. And When Time Strikes The Hour For Sleep, Back In My Room Alone, My Heart Has Many A Sweet Bird's Song - And One That's All My Own.

I Love Thee For A Heart That’s Kind--not For The Knowledge In Thy Mind.

When I Had Money, Money, O! I Knew No Joy Till I Went Poor; For Many A False Man As A Friend Came Knocking All Day At My Door.

As Long As I Love Beauty I Am Young.