Merry the Heart of God and Man

The LORD, in His omniscient wisdom,
Muses over Horace, and though never will He be grey
Until the Millennial Kingdom,---the Jewish one, not the German--
He quaffs the berry from a cup, and feels the salubrious echoes
Of a little wine. The Silks are far away, and cannot cross the ocean in hordes,
Youth and Lovers fade and grow ugly,
The grey hair will grow on a hoary head,
And at the last, sit under the Mulberry Tree and quaff a glass of wine.
Christ drinks from the cup of wine, and eats the finest grain
Plucked from the farmer's field.
He luxuriously dines with prostitutes and tax collectors
Eating roasted beef and suckling lamb stew and tilapia 
Fire grilled, with cinnamon, ginger and mustard seed.
Roasted to perfection in an oven, and he eats vegetables salted
And seared in oils.
He enjoys His twelve friends, and His maiden entourage, 
Never getting drunk,  but still with the merry heart of meed
He drinks his cup of wine, for the vine satisfies the heart of man and God.
For all other pleasures grow dim, Christ knows, because He 
Gave Horus his muse, sex becomes gross, romance a dull passion
War and wisdom--for there is no more to learn about them
For all patterns repeat the same--are not to be mulled
Drink the wine at the feast, and taste the berry on your hummus and meat;
Recline with your old friends, and feel a platonic form of love
More precious than infatuation.
And drink a little, not to get drunk, but to feel a little social at the wine-gathering.