No change, though you lie under / The land you used to plough.

That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, the happy highways where I went and cannot come again.

Here dead lie we because we did not choose to live and shame the land from which we sprung. Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose; but young men think it is, and we were young.

That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, the happy highways where I went and cannot come again

Who made the world I cannot tell; 'Tis made, and here am I in hell. My hand, though now my knuckles bleed, I never soiled with such a deed.

To-day I shall be strong,
No more shall yield to wrong,
Shall squander life no more;
Days lost, I know not how,
I shall retrieve them now;
Now I shall keep the vow
I never kept before.