 | Poems |  |
GOD'S BEST GIFT.
Come, fill—fill to the toast
To which my glass I lift;
Here's “She we love the most,”
Here's “Woman—God's best gift.”
O who, beloved by her,
Who will not gladly own,
Life, O what rapture were,
Though bless'd with her alone!
Then who'll not drink the toast
To which my glass I lift?
Here's “She we love the most,”
Here's “Woman—God's best gift.”
To which my glass I lift;
Here's “She we love the most,”
Here's “Woman—God's best gift.”
O who, beloved by her,
Who will not gladly own,
Life, O what rapture were,
Though bless'd with her alone!
Then who'll not drink the toast
To which my glass I lift?
Here's “She we love the most,”
Here's “Woman—God's best gift.”
The heathens feign'd that he
Who stole from heaven its flame,
Foretold all woes would be
When sweet Pandora came;
But all his wisdom taught,
Thank Heaven! it taught in vain;
She to man's heart was caught,
And ne'er released again.
And who'll not drink the toast
To which my glass I lift?
Here's “She we love the most,”
Here's “Woman—God's best gift.”
Who stole from heaven its flame,
Foretold all woes would be
When sweet Pandora came;
But all his wisdom taught,
Thank Heaven! it taught in vain;
245
And ne'er released again.
And who'll not drink the toast
To which my glass I lift?
Here's “She we love the most,”
Here's “Woman—God's best gift.”
In Paradise, man found
His lot not wholly bless'd,
Until its blissful ground
Dear woman's footsteps press'd;
God's mercy how he bless'd
When forced its bliss to leave!
He Eden still possess'd
While with him went his Eve.
Then who'll not drink the toast
To which my glass I lift?
Here's “She we love the most,”
Here's “Woman—God's best gift.”
His lot not wholly bless'd,
Until its blissful ground
Dear woman's footsteps press'd;
God's mercy how he bless'd
When forced its bliss to leave!
He Eden still possess'd
While with him went his Eve.
Then who'll not drink the toast
To which my glass I lift?
Here's “She we love the most,”
Here's “Woman—God's best gift.”
And still the curse she takes
From man; for she alone
With her dear presence makes
An Eden still his own;
Oh, what were this life worth,
How poor and dull it were,
Unless the weary earth
Were made a heaven by her!
Then who'll not drink the toast
To which my glass I lift?
Here's “She we love the most,”
Here's “Woman—God's best gift.”
From man; for she alone
With her dear presence makes
An Eden still his own;
Oh, what were this life worth,
How poor and dull it were,
Unless the weary earth
Were made a heaven by her!
Then who'll not drink the toast
To which my glass I lift?
Here's “She we love the most,”
Here's “Woman—God's best gift.”
| Poems | |