I often feel the warm embrace
Of ruby lips upon my face,
For those who never bend the knee
To haughty monarchs, just like thee,
Will fall down prostrate at my side.
And kiss the face thou dost deride.
Thou sayest, thou art very neat,
And I, the slave to wash thy feet!
Should all the streamlets cease to flow,
Not one on earth could e'er be so.
Our strength propels the busy mills,
And all the land with plenty fills,--
They bring, some silver--others gold--
And shield the poor from winter's cold.
The vapors, which from us ascend,
To vegetation are a friend;--
In dew they soon descend again,
Or fall in fruitful showers of rain.
Were there no brooks, there'd be no bread--
Then tell me, how could man be fed?
No man, nor beast, or plant, or flower,
Without us could survive an hour;--
The feathered songsters of the grove.
Would cease to chant their notes of love.
Earth would become a scene of gloom--
One vast extended direful tomb.--
And I must tell thee, ere I go,
That thy proud head would soon lie low,--
Thou 'dst fade and wither, droop and die,
And in the dust neglected lie.