John Pierpont

Water!--Oh! Water For Me

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Oh! water for me--bright water for me!
And wine for the tremulous debauchee!
It cooleth the brow, it cooleth the brain,
It maketh the faint one strong again;
It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea:
All freshness, like infant purity.


Oh water for me, bright water, for me!
Give wine, give wine to the debauchee!
Fill to the brim! fill, fill to the brim!
Let the flowing crystal kiss the rim:
For my hand is steady, my eye is true,
For I, like the flowers, drink nothing but dew.
Oh! water, bright water's a mine of wealth,
And the ores it yieldeth are vigour and health.
So water, pure water for me, for me!
And wine for the tremulous debauchee!


When over the hills, like a gladsome bride,
Morning walks forth in her beauty's pride,
And leading a band of laughing hours,
Brushes the dew from the nodding flowers,
Oh! cheerily then my voice is heard,
Mingling with that of the soaring bird,
Who flingeth abroad his matins loud,
As he freshens his wing in the cold grey cloud.


But when evening has quitted her sheltering yew,
Drowsily flying, and weaving anew,
Her dusky meshes o'er land and sea,
How gently, oh Sleep, fall thy poppies on me!
For water I drink, pure, cold and bright,
And my dreams are of heaven the live long night.
So, hurrah for thee, water, hurrah, hurrah!
Thou art silver and gold, thou art ribbon and star,
Hurrah for bright water! hurrah! hurrah!

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