Thomas Moore

Every season hath its pleasure;
Spring may boast her flowery prime,
Yet the vineyard's ruby treasuries
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Every season hath its pleasure;
Spring may boast her flowery prime,
Yet the vineyard's ruby treasuries
Brighten Autumn's sob'rer time.

While mantling on the maiden's cheek
Young roses kindled into thought.

While mantling on the maiden's cheek
Young roses kindled into thought.

And soon, too soon, we part with pain,
To sail o'er silent seas again.

And soon, too soon, we part with pain,
To sail o'er silent seas again.

With what a deep devotedness of woe
I wept thy absence--o'er and o'er again
Thinking of thee, read more

With what a deep devotedness of woe
I wept thy absence--o'er and o'er again
Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain,
And memory, like a drop that, night and day,
Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away!

Take up the cross if thou the crown would'st gain.
[Lat., Tolle crucem, qui vis auferre coronam.]

Take up the cross if thou the crown would'st gain.
[Lat., Tolle crucem, qui vis auferre coronam.]