I, whenever I see thee, thirst, and holding the cup, apply it to
my lips more for thy sake read more

I, whenever I see thee, thirst, and holding the cup, apply it to
my lips more for thy sake than for drinking.

I am from Massachusetts,
The land of the sacred cod,
There the Adamses snub the Abootts
read more

I am from Massachusetts,
The land of the sacred cod,
There the Adamses snub the Abootts
And the Cabots walk with God.

Here's to old Adam's crystal ale,
Clear sparkling and divine,
Fair H2O, long may you flow,
read more

Here's to old Adam's crystal ale,
Clear sparkling and divine,
Fair H2O, long may you flow,
We think your health (in wine).

Ho! stand to your glasses steady!
'Tis all we have left to prize.
A cup to the read more

Ho! stand to your glasses steady!
'Tis all we have left to prize.
A cup to the dead already,--
Hurrah for the next that dies.

I come from good old Boston,
The home of the bean and the cod,
Where Cabots speak read more

I come from good old Boston,
The home of the bean and the cod,
Where Cabots speak only to Lowells,
And the Lowells speak only to God.

A health to the nut-brown lass,
With the hazel eyes: let it pass.
. . . .
read more

A health to the nut-brown lass,
With the hazel eyes: let it pass.
. . . .
As much to the lively grey
'Tis as good i' th' night as day:
. . . .
She's a savour to the glass,
And excuse to make it pass.

But the standing toast that pleased me most
Was, "The wind that blows, the ship that goes,
read more

But the standing toast that pleased me most
Was, "The wind that blows, the ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor!"

Life, lift the full goblet--away with all sorrow--
The circle of friendship what freedom would sever?
To-day read more

Life, lift the full goblet--away with all sorrow--
The circle of friendship what freedom would sever?
To-day is our own, and a fig for to-morrow--
Here's to the Fourth and our country forever.

St. Leon raised his kindling eye,
And lifts the sparkling cup on high;
"I drink to one," read more

St. Leon raised his kindling eye,
And lifts the sparkling cup on high;
"I drink to one," he said,
"Whose image never may depart,
Deep graven on this grateful heart,
Till memory be dead."
. . . .
St. Leon paused, as if he would
Not breathe her name in careless mood
Thus lightly to another;
Then bent his noble head, as though
To give the word the reverence due,
And gently said, "My mother!"