The feast of God is rich with wine,
Vintage of all the years in store;
Bring all your cups for Him to fill,
And He will give them running o'er.
Full of the sun His grapes have grown;
Ask what thou wilt--the choice is wide;
For joy is good, the angel's food,
And when He gives He will not chide.
But whoso in His banquet house
Hath drunk the costlier wine of pain,
(O sharp and sweet--for victors meet!)
He will not ask the new again!
