LET US BE MERRY BEFORE WE GOBy John Philpot CurranIF SADLY thinking, with spirits sinking,Could, more than drinking, my cares composeA cure for sorrow from sighs I’d borrow,And hope to-morrow would end my woes.

But as in wailing there’s nought availing,And Death unfailing will strike the blow,Then for that reason, and for a season,Let us be merry before we go.

To joy a stranger, a wayworn ranger,In every danger my course I’ve run;Now hope all ending, and death befriending,His last aid lending, my cares are done.

No more a rover, or hapless lover,My griefs are over—my glass runs low;Then for that reason, and for a season,Let us be merry before we go.

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