A CHAUNT. 299 



' THE PSALM OF ST. MARY'S ISLE." 



Come "Liquor up," ye Sons of Clay, 



Our wine is clear and bright. 

 And if we have been dull to-day, 



We'll not be so to-night. 

 So fill your glasses to the brink, 



No flincher must be found. 

 The toast that I propose to drink, 



Is " all the dark girls round." 



Chorus — Then " Liquor up," ye Sons of Clay. 



Now fill a bumper up again. 



For quick the moments roll ; 

 Should visions rise of care or pain, 



They'll sink when in the bowl. 

 St. Mary's Isle has devils blue. 



That come our joys to blight. 

 Lest they to-morrow this may do, 



We'll drown them all to-night. 



Chorus — Then " Liquor up," ye Sons of Clay. 



In Egypt, so the Sages say, 



" When friends in death recline. 

 They fill the dull and senseless clay 



With spice and spirits fine." 

 We will not trespass, you and I, 



On these embalming elves ; 

 For friends shall find, that when we die. 



We have embalmed ourselves. 



Chorus — Then " Liquor up," ye Sons of Clay. 



