I.

When I consider all the evil done
By that strange fiend born of the fumy still —
The crime, the wretchedness, the shame, the ill,
The dreadful ending of lives well begun,
The pitiful agony of many a one,
The anguish of desire bereft of will,
The friendly hand insanely moved to kill —
I can but feel that of all devils none
Has so cursed earth with sorrow. One I know
Who fought for years (trust me, I know him well)
That demon in his soul to overthrow,
And by God's grace he did that demon quell.
And he can tell you surely who hath woe;
And you — say not to him there is no hell!

II.

How fatuous is the habit of potation!
Yet precious to the palate is good wine!
When one has a choice friend with whom to dine
There are few pleasures like free bibulation!
But he who pours wine freely makes libation
To that which will reward his spirit fine,
His wit, his fancy, and his grace divine,
Inevitably with sore desecration.
Holy George Herbert said " stay at the third "
(Third glass, not bottle), for a siren's call
Tempting to dangerous depths may then be heard.
I find it better not to imbibe at all —
Better for happy thought, good deed, sane word —
The treacherous imp that lurks in alcohol.