The day is all before, with cares beset-
The cares we know, and they that give no warning;
For love is God's own antidote for fret.
Folk need a heap of loving at the noontime-
In the battle lull, the moment snatched from strife-
Halfway between the waking and the croontime,
While bickering and worriment are rife.
Folk hunger so for loving at the nighttime,
When wearily they take them home to rest-
At slumber song and turning-out-the-light time-
Of all the times for loving, that's the best.
Folk want a lot of loving every minute-
The sympathy of others and their smile!
Till life's end, from the moment they begin it,
Folks need a lot of loving all the while.