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Name:  
Email: 

When all the world is young, lad,
And all the trees are green
And every goose a swan, lad,
And every lass 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.