"How’s things?" says I,
Says he ‘Not bad,
They might be worse,
But then I ‘m glad
They ain’t.’ That’s all
He had to say,
An’ whistled as
He went away.
He had his troubles,
That I knew,
And sorrows also
Grieved him, too.
But not a word
Of them, says he,
But kep’ ’em to
Himself, you see.
‘How’s things? ‘ says I,
‘Not bad,’ says he,
‘They might be worse,’
An’ seems to me,
That’s jes’ the thing
We all should say
About our troubles
Every day.
They might be worse,
Of course they might.
This thought should put
Our gloom to flight.
Let’s cease our
Troubles to rehearse,
And tell our friends
They might be worse.
