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[Page 111]

How fortunate is he who finds a new joy for each day
In doing well the things at which he works away;

To him the weeks are never long,
And even if his wage be small,
There is upon his lips a song
That slaves may never learn at all.

This world that we're living in
Is mighty hard to beat;
You get a thorn with ev'ry rose,
But ain't the roses sweet!.

Frank. L. Stanton.

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