Then, soldier! Come fill high the wine
For we reck not of tomorrow;
Be ours today and we resign
All the rest to the fools of sorrow
Gay be the hour 'til we beat to arms
Then comrade Death or Glory;
'Tis Victory in all her charms
Or 'tis Fame in the world's bright story

'Tis you, 'tis I that may meet the ball;
And me it better pleases
In battle, brave, with the brave to fall
Than to die of dull diseases;
Driveller to be in my fireside chair
With saws and tales unheeded;
A tottering thing of aches and care
No longer lov'd nor needed

But thou, O dark is thy flowing hair
Andthine eye with fire is streaming
And o'er thy cheek, thy looks, thine air
Sits health in triumph beaming
Thou, brother soldier, fill the wine
Fill high to love and beauty;
Love, friendship, honour, all are thine
Thy country and thy duty