Abraham Lincoln his hand and pen he will be good but god knows When
My childhood home I see again, And sadden with the view; And still, as memory crowds my brain, There's pleasure in it too. O Memory!
You are young, and I am older; You are hopeful, I am not— Enjoy life, ere it grow colder— Pluck the roses ere they rot. Teach your beau to heed the lay— That sunshine soon is lost in shade— That now's as good as any day— To take thee, Rosa, ere she fade.