The glass has run — see ninety-seven has fled, And ninety-eight comes on with equal speed; While safe from harm, beneath their spreading vine, Columbia's sons in virtuous actions shine:
Their generous contributions feed the poor, And sends them smiling from their patron's door; Sweet Peace and Plenty crowns the festive board, Where man reveres no domineering lord;
But free from scenes of desolating war, Where kingdoms clash and mighty empires jar, He lives secure from all the dread alarms Of fell invaders and the din of arms:—
Such scenes now past have once defil'd our shore And drench'd Columbia in her children's gore, Let man exult, the raging storm is o'er. To you, my customers, I bring the news
Of feuds domestic and of foreign woes; Of Liberty extending her domain, And Truth triumphant in her glorious reign. Consider, patrons through the storm and snow
With constant care I am oblig'd to go; Shivering and cold, I want the lively cup To cheer my heart and keep my spirits up: To stern winter's gloom can joy inspire;
Now social circles grace the Hickory fire; And on your board, for friends and neighbors spread, The turkey smokes the industrious peasant fed: But not to me these blessings are dispos'd,
Fortune's capricious hand to me is clos'd; I am condemn'd to labour long and hard, Unknown my troubles, scanty my reward. Such is the humble German's life of toil,
Who now solicits your approving smile; My grateful heart still let your bounty share, And Peace and Freedom reign from year to year.
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