HE'D made a fortune out of stocks, he couldn't count his worth;
He 'd hoarded up a store of gold, a section of the earth;
But still he sighed alone and talked of all the world's distress,
And mentioned to his dearest friends: 'Gold won't buy happiness.'
YOU can't pay back in dollars what your father does for you,
You can't repay in kindness all the tenderness he shows;
You little know the perils he has safely brought you through,
And the wealth of Rockefeller this account would never close.