All Knots That Lovers Tie Are Tied

When The Journey's Over/there'll Be Time Enough To Sleep.

And Malt Does More Than Milton Can To Justify God's Ways To Man.

Strapped, Noosed, Nighing His Hour, He Stood And Counted Them And Cursed His Luck; And Then The Clock Collected In The Tower Its Strength, And Struck.

They Carry Back Bright To The Coiner The Mintage Of Man,the Lads That Will Die In Their Glory And Never Be Old.

Shoulder The Sky, My Lad, And Drink Your Ale.