The sacred raptures o'er my heart;
Until my locks are thin and gray
Deep in my soul will sound alway,
And full of joy will ever spring
The songs that mother used to sing.




"QUAFF THE GLASS, THE WINE IS RED."


Quaff the glass, the wine is red,
And the rose of youth is glowing,
While the toils of life are fled
And the snows of age are going;
Quaff it with a hearty will,
Quaff it deep and quaff forever;
Wine will every sorrow kill,
And destroy the pleasures never.

When the heart beats sad and low,
Drink its gladness like a river;
When the soul is weak with woe,
Quaff and be a cheerful liver;
Never, never, life, despair,
While a cup of hope is nigh thee;
Bend not under loads of care
While the fount of joy is by thee!