by J. Gordon Coogler (1865-1901)
To Amy I will drink to your health, sweet Amy,
For there’s nothing in this cup, I fear,
That would be suggestive of sorrow
For my own sweet Amy, dear.
May your heart be pure and noble,
And your arm be firm and strong,
And your hope be like the rainbow,
Beautiful, bright and long.
May your life, like the rose of summer,
Be fresh, and remain in its bud,
As I never was partial to whiskey, Amy,
I’ll toast you in Congaree mud.