Ah, what's the use of all, lad?
There 's death in our work, there's fear to
lurk in the places where we played.
What help 's to be had?
And what is the use of all, lad?
Little Robin chirped and sung, the same
brave roundelay;
There's room to be glad!
There's always a light behind the night;
there's never a will but a way;