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Show SmoKe From the Weekly Tipe. THE GOD OF GIN. I wrote a song of a buoyant note And vino was lauded therein; And seraphs were dancing a wild mad maze At the throne of the God of Gin. Plump Bacchus arrayed in a purple robe With his red lips curled in glee; And sirens were quailing the red ripe juice And the laughter and w,ino were free. So I quaffed the wine as the host sped by And the imps came trooping in, And delirious all each sang the lay, The song of the God of Gin. Ah, sad was the day when the Dawn drove by My kingdom of mauve and gold; When the sounds died away like a siren song, Or the memory of dreams that are old. So I left my merry mates and came To the land of the Things that Be, And I knew not the bounding blood of youth Nor the frolicksome hours that flee. Once I said to a maid in the after years, . Your soul with my own is akin; But she said, I fear and I never can love One who worships the God of Gin. So I quaff the wine as the host speeds by And the imps come trooping in; And delirious still I sing the lay, The song of the God'tif Gin. ' |