Again we meet in social glee,
Though fifty years be o'er,
And press around the flowing bowl,
To drain its juice once more;
Whilst Friendship hovering round the board,
Applauds the festive vein,
And whispers every joyous soul,—
"Come—fill your glass again."
Though Time, with rude resistless step,
Hath marched our phalanx through,
And claimed from those we loved so well,
The debt to Nature due;
Why should we mourn o'er life's decline,
Or why perplex the brain?
For hark! those guardian spirits cry,—
"Fill high the glass again,"
To your remembrance, Brethren dear!
The goblet charged behold,
You've gone the way we all must take,
The timid and the bold;
But ere the slippery path we tread,
Let none that's here disdain
To seize what courage wine can give,
And fill the glass again.
Long may we quaff the circling bowl,
In mirthful mood below;
And may we meet what time we part,
Such friends where'er we go:
In youth, in manhood, and in age,
Whose hearts unchanged remain,
Who wisely prize the present joy,
And crown the cup again.