And Send Him Many Years Of Sunshine

She Shall Scant Show Well That Now Shows Best.

Though Music Oft Hath Such A Charm To Make Bad Good, And Good Provoke To Harm.

'tis Not Enough To Help The Feeble Up, But To Support Them After.

By That Sin Fell The Angels.

Under The Greenwood Tree, Who Loves To Lie With Me And Tune His Merry Note, Unto The Sweet Bird's Throat; Come Hither, Come Hither, Come Hither. Here Shall He See No Enemy But Winter And Rough Weather.