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And when life’s path grows dark and strait,
And pressing ills, on ills await,
Then friendship, sorrow to abate,
The helping hand will offer.

She dries his tears, she strews his way,
E’en in the grave with flowrets gay;
Turns night to morn, morn to day,
And pleasure still increases.

Of life she is the fairest band,
loins brothers truly hand in hand;
Thus onward to a better land,
Man journeys light and cheerly.

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BEGONE DULL CARE.

BEGONE dull care,
I prithee begone from me;
Begone dull care.
You and I shall never agree.
Long time thou hast been tarrying here,
And fain thou would'st me kill
But I faith dull care,
Thou never shall have thy will.

To much care,

Will make a young man grey;