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The common things of life are best--
The air, the sun, the rain;
They come and go without our quest--
They go, and come again.


And treasures in our hands we hold
That riches cannot buy,
Though there be bags of yellow gold
Enough to fill the sky.


For us the robin trills his song,
The oriole pipes his lay--
A concert all the summer long,
And not a cent to pay.


And Love's and Friendship's joys are ours,
And sweet content, and health--
Not always found to be the dowers
Of luxury and wealth.


The crown of care on greatness pressed,
May well the soul appall;
The common things of life are best,
And dear, we have them all.