* * * * *
Come, friend, my fire is burning bright,
A fire's no longer out of place,
How clear it glows (there's frost tonight)
It looks white winter in the face.
Be mine the tree that feeds the fire,
Be mine, the sun knows when to set,
Be mine, the months when friends desire
To turn in here from cold and wet,
—Constable.
* * * * *
Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend,
And round his dwelling guardian saints attend;
Blest be that spot where cheerful guests retire
To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire;
Blest that abode where want and pain repair,
And every stranger finds a ready chair:
Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crowned,
With all the ruddy family around.
—Goldsmith.
* * * * *
But let us drink a merry toast,
Let's drink to now and here,
Good fellowship shall be our boast,
In either woe or cheer!
O'er joys we've had, why sorrow brew?
Why live in days gone past?
We'll drink to friends both old and new,
Just so our friends are fast.
—Delaney.