Come to me, O my meerschaum,

For the vile street organs play;

And the torture they're inflicting

Will vanish quite away.

I open my study window

And into the twilight peer,

And my anxious eyes are watching

For the man with my evening beer.

In one hand is the shining pewter,

All amber the ale doth glow;

In t'other are long

As spotless and pure as snow.

Ah! what would the world be to us

Tobaccoless?--Fearful bore!

We should dread the day after to-morrow

Worse than the day before.

As the elephant's trunk to the creature,

Is the pipe to the man, I trow;

Useful and meditative

As the cud to the peaceful cow.

So to the world is smoking;

Through that we feel, with bliss

That, whatever worlds come after,

A jolly old world is this.

Come to me, O my meerschaum,

And whisper to me here,

If you like me better than coffee,

Than grog, or the bitter beer.

Oh! what are our biggest winnings,

If peaceful content we miss?

Though fortune may give us an innings

She seldom conveys us bliss.

You're better than all the fortunes

That ever were made or broke;

For a penny will always fill

And buy me content with a smoke.