The festive board invites,
Extinguish every thought of care—
Blow out your very lights!
But glory is a kin' o' thing I shan't pursue no furder.—
BIRDOFREDOM SAWIN.
Our march in glory's bright career,
All other troops surpasses;
For, whilst they charge their fellow men,
We only charge our glasses;
No tears our conquests e'er await,