Saint Botolph
By Arthur Macy
Saint Botolph flourished in the olden time,
In the days when the saints were in their prime.
Oh, his feet were bare and bruised and cold,
But his heart was warm and as pure as gold.
And the kind old saint with his gown and his hood
Was loved by the sinners and loved by the good,
For he made the sinners as pure as the snow,
And the good men needed him to keep them so.
CHORUS
Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me
To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.
A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme
To the barefooted saint of the olden time.
He loved a friend and a flagon of wine,
When the friend was true and the bottle was fine.
He would raise his glass with a knowing wink,
And this was the toast he would always drink: -
"Oh, here's to the good and the bad men too,
For without them saints would have nothing to do.
Oh, I love them both and I love them well,
But which I love better, I never can tell."
CHORUS
Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me
To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.
A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme
To the barefooted saint of the olden time.
As he journeyed along on the king's highway
He gave all the boys and the girls "Good-day,"
And never a child saw the hood and gown
But ran to the father of Botolph's Town.
He'd a word for the wicked, and he called them kin,
And he said, "I am certain that there must be sin
While a few get the loaves and many get the crumbs,
And some are born fingers and some born thumbs."
CHORUS
Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me
To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.
A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme
To the barefooted saint of the olden time.
But the saint grew old, and sorry the day
When his life went out with the tide in the bay;
But he left a name and he left a creed
Of the cheerful life and the kindly deed.
Then remember the man of the days of old
Whose heart was warm and as pure as gold,
And remember the tears and the prayers he gave
For any poor devil with a soul to save.
CHORUS
Then drink, brave gentlemen, drink with me
To the Lincolnshire saint by the old North Sea.
A glass and a toast and a song and a rhyme
To the barefooted saint of the olden time.