We Thank Thee, O Father

So I Have Talked With Betsey And Betsey Has Talked With Me, And We Have Agreed Together That We Can't Never Agree

But I Have Learned A Thing Or Two; I Know As Sure As Fate, When We Lock Up Our Lives For Wealth, The Gold Key Comes Too Late.

Over The Hill To The Poor-house I'm Trudgin' My Weary Way.

Yellow, Mellow, Ripened Days, Sheltered In A Golden Coating; O'er The Dreamy, Listless Haze, White And Dainty Cloudlets Floating; Winking At The Blushing Trees, And The Sombre, Furrowed Fallow; Smiling At The Airy Ease, Of The Southward Flying Swallow Sweet And Smiling Are Thy Ways, Beauteous, Golden Autumn Days.

Not All The Labour Of The Earth Is Done By Hardened Hands.