Comrades Fill No Glass for Me |
Stephen Foster, 1855
Oh! comrades, fill no glass for me To drown my soul in liquid flame For if I drank, the toast should be To blighted fortune health and fame. Yet, though I long to quell the strife That passion holds against my life, |: Still, boon companions may ye be, But comrades, fill no glass for me. :| | 2. I know a breat that once was light Whose patient sufferings need my care I know a hearth that once was bright, But drooping hopes have nestled there. Then while the tear drops nightly steal From wounded hearts that I should heal |: Though boon companions may ye be, But comrades, fill no glass for me. :| |
3. When I was young I felt the tide Of aspirations undefiled, But manhood's years have wronged the pride My parents centered in their child. Then, by a mother's sacred tear, By all that memory should revere, |: Though boon companions may ye be, Oh! comrades, fill no glass for me. :| |