The 'Old, Old Song'

When all the world is young, lad, And all the trees are green; And every goose a swan, lad, And every girl a queen; Then hey for boot and horse, lad, And round the world away; Young blood must have its course, lad, And every dog his day.

When all the world is old, lad, And all the trees are brown; And all the sport is stale, lad, And all the wheels run down; Creep home and take your place there, The spent and maimed among; God grant you find one face there You loved when all was young.