How to get home he does not know.
At last quite exhausted with toil and trouble,
With the weight of the burden and his years, bent double.
He puts down his faggot, and thinks of his pains,
What is his work, and what are his gains,
How since he came into this weary world,
By the wheels of blind fortune around he's been twirled.
Was he not poor, a wood cutter, at best,
Oft without bread, always without rest.
He thinks of his wife, his children, his taxes,