This text comes from Irish Melodies, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
Oh! think not my spirits are always as light,
And as free from a pang, as they seem to you now;
Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night
Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow.
No, life is a waste of wearisome hours,
Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns;
And the heart, that is soonest awake to the flowers,
Is always the first to be touched by the thorns!
But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile;
May we never meet worse, in our pilgrimage here,
Than the tear that enjoyment can gild with a smile,
And the smile that compassion can turn to a tear.
The thread of our life would be dark, heaven knows!
If it were not with friendship and love intertwin'd;
And I care not how soon I may sink to repose,
When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my mind!
But they who have lov'd the fondest, the purest,
Too often have wept o'er the dream they believ'd;
And the heart, that has slumber'd in friendship securest,
Is happy indeed, if 'twas never deceiv'd.
But send round the bowl, while a relic of truth
Is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be mine,—
That the sun-shine of love may illumine our youth,
Arid the moon-light of friendship console our decline.