No kitchen my grate;
Yet roasts it and boils it

Both early and late.

My bed has no trestles,

My trestles no bed;
Yet merrier moments

No mortal e'er led.

My cellar is lofty,

My barn is full deep,
From top to the bottom,--

There lie I and sleep.

And soon as I waken,

All moves on its race;
My place has no fixture,

My fixture no place.

1827.*
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JOY AND SORROW.