Classic Poem

There's a serpent, namely, drinking
Wine or whiskey, beer or gin,
With man's destiny 'tis linking
All that leads to shame and sin.

Poverty will surely find you,
Worthy pride and manhood pass,
In his clutches rum will bind you —
Lover of the social glass.

When you're stricken with diseases,
Who of you are taken first?
Those who drink! somehow it pleases
Sickness thus to quench its thirst!

Don't you hear the prison ringing,
With the cries of grief and woe?
Drink! its penalty is bringing!
How the tears of anguish flow!

To the almshouse let us visit,
Naught such sorrow can surpass,
Human wrecks we trace, and is it,
That they used the social glass?

Search the mad-house, gentle stranger,
Crazed by drink, such ravings hear!
Did they risk the proffered danger,
Quaff the poison without fear?

Steal the conscience! cloud the reason!
Rob the judgment! O! alas!
This the cup will do in season,
Victim of the social glass.

All affection for another —
Daughter, father, just to think!
Lover, sister, wife or mother —
Drowns within the cup of drink!

And the wrong that's here inflicted
Ceases not, but what is worse,
Born of such the child's addicted
To the awful, awful curse!

Ten years back let's turn the dial,
Then the drunkards of to-day
Are of drinking making trial,
Mod'rate drinkers, as they say.

Mod'rate drinking is the terror.,
Leading down to scenes of night,
From the path of truth to error —
Lost, to all that's pure and right.

Look upon the mod'rate drinkers
Ten years hence, what do you see?
To the eyes of all our thinkers,
They the drunkards then will be.

Rum displaces heav'nly nurture,
Deeper than the tongue can tell,
Buries honor, kills the virtue,
Leads you to a drunkard's hell.