Comrades, Fill No Glass For Me
by Stephen Foster

Oh! comrades, fill no glass for me
To drown my soul in liquid flame
For if I drank, the toast should be
To blighted fortune health and fame.
Yet, though I long to quell the strife
That passion holds against my life,
Still, boon companions may ye be,
But comrades, fill no glass for me.
Still, boon companions may ye be,
But comrades, fill no glass for me.

I know a breast that once was light
Whose patient sufferings need my care
I know a hearth that once was bright,
But drooping hopes have nestled there.
Then while the tear drops nightly steal
From wounded hearts that I should heal
Though boon companions may ye be,
But comrades, fill no glass for me.
Though boon companions may ye be,
But comrades, fill no glass for me.

When I was young I felt the tide
Of aspirations undefiled,
But manhood’s years have wronged the pride
My parents centered in their child.
Then, by a mother’s sacred tear,
By all that memory should revere,
Though boon companions may ye be,
Oh! comrades, fill no glass for me.
Though boon companions may ye be,
Oh! comrades, fill no glass for me.