Weren't the last drop in the well,
As I gasp'd upon the brink,
Ere my fainting spirit read more

Weren't the last drop in the well,
As I gasp'd upon the brink,
Ere my fainting spirit fell,
'Tis to thee that I would drink.

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!"

Waes-hael! for Lord and Dame!
O! merry be their Dole;
Drink-hael! in Jesu's name,
read more

Waes-hael! for Lord and Dame!
O! merry be their Dole;
Drink-hael! in Jesu's name,
And fill the tawny bowl.

Here's a health to you and yours who have done such things for us
and ours.
And when read more

Here's a health to you and yours who have done such things for us
and ours.
And when we and ours have it in our powers to do for you and
yours what you and yours have done for us and ours,
Then we and ours will do for you and yours what you and yours
have done for us and ours.

You to the left and I to the right,
For the ways of men must sever--
And read more

You to the left and I to the right,
For the ways of men must sever--
And it may be for a day and a night,
And it well may be forever.
But whether we meet or whether we part,
(For our ways are past our knowing)
A pledge from the heart to its fellow heart,
On the ways we all are going!
Here's luck!
For we know not where we are going.

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.

Here's to the red of it,
There's not a thread of it,
No, not a shred of read more

Here's to the red of it,
There's not a thread of it,
No, not a shred of it,
In all the spread of it,
From foot to head,
Not heroes bled for it,
Faced steel and lead for it,
Precious blood shed for it,
Bathing in red.

There's a health to poverty; it sticks by us when all friends
forsake us.

There's a health to poverty; it sticks by us when all friends
forsake us.

Here's to our beloved George Washington, the Joshua of America,
who commanded the sun and the moon to sand read more

Here's to our beloved George Washington, the Joshua of America,
who commanded the sun and the moon to sand still--and they
obeyed.