The Still Small Voice Of Gratitude.

Hands That The Rod Of Empire Might Have Sway'd, Or Waked To Ecstasy The Living Lyre.

Scatter Plenty O'er A Smiling Land.

We Frolic While 'tis May.

A Fav'rite Has No Friend!

Fair Laughs The Morn, And Soft The Zephyr Blows, While Proudly Rising O'er The Azure Realm In Gallant Trim The Gilded Vessel Goes, Youth On The Prow, And Pleasure At The Helm.