My Books Kept Me From The Ring,

While The Steeples Are Loud In Their Joy, To The Tune Of The Bells' Ring-a-ding, Let Us Chime In A Peal, One And All, For We All Should Be Able To Sing Hullah Baloo.

To Attempt To Advise Conceited People Is Like Whistling Against The Wind.

My Books Kept Me From The Ring, The Dog-pit, The Tavern, And The Saloon.

With Fingers Weary And Worn, With Eyelids Heavy And Red, A Woman Sat In Unwomanly Rags, Plying Her Needle And Thread.

Oh! God! That Bread Should Be So Dear, And Flesh And Blood So Cheap!