Now, each of us has his own special gift And you know this was meant to be true. And if you don't underestimate me I won't underestimate you.
With hand on the spade and heart in the sky Dress the ground and till it; Turn in the little seed, brown and dry, Turn out the golden millet. Work, and your house shall be duly fed: Work, and rest shall be won; I hold that a man had better be dead Than alive when his work is done.