MY LOT

My lot on earth is not all mirth,

Nor is it constant gloom;

Some joys decay and fall away,

But leave much lasting bloom.

My wishes are not always met,

And cares press hard at times;

Yet joyous strains ne'er sink to fret,

Tho’ dollars shrink to dimes.

My earthly lot boasts not a cot,

No foot of land I own,

No bank account nor phosphate mount,

Nor credit for a loan;

But I can read my title clear

To mansion, robe, and crown;

I couple these with lot down here,

And sing, tho’ foes may frown.