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OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
The careless youth when up
To Glory's fount aspiring, Took nor urn nor cup
To hide the pilfered fire in.— But, oh, his joy ! when, round
The halls of heaven spying Amongst the stars he found
A bowl of Bacchus lying.
Cho,—Fill the bumper fair !
Every drop we sprinkle, O'er the brow of care Smooths away a wrinkle.
Some drops were in the bowl,
Remains of last night's pleasure, With which the sparks of soul
Mix'd their burning treasure ! Hence the goblet's shower
Hath such spells to win us — Hence its mighty power
O'er that flame within us.
Cho.—Fill the bumper fair !
Every drop we sprinkle O'er the brow of care Smooths away a wrinkle.