. . . .
John Donaldson gave him a sovereign,
And went out with a hanging head.
. . . .
He haunted that part of London
For three whole months and more;
And he saw what Brewers seldom see,
What he'd never faced before.
He saw the truth stark naked—not glossed or veiled or hid,
He saw with his own eye open that harm that his own beer did.
He saw for himself—John Sidney,
Wherever his Houses stood,
A Force that worked for evil,
That did not work for good.
He saw—he was bound to see it—in the slums the drink-shops made,
Christ's flag torn down and trampled by the brute heel of the Trade.
He saw, laid bare as murder
Done in the broad daylight,
The base and ceaseless tempting
That goes on day and night.
The tempting of men and women already weak in will,
And poor enough in pocket, to be poorer and weaker still.
'We didn't want it 'ere!'... No!
And they didn't want it there!
Yet here it was, and there it was,
For ever! Everywhere!
The Tied House in the open,
The Hidden Drinking lair,
The Spirit Vault, the Cellars, the Private Bar and seat,
Calling from every corner and tempting from every street!
The cries, the blows, the curses,
Entered into his ears.
He saw his golden profits
Blackened with blood and tears.
He saw—as angels see them—the facts of what has grown
The saddest money-making the world has ever known.
And when he'd seen it fairly,
He didn't turn and run!
In a hurry to forget it!
As many would have done.
He wasn't built that way,
John Sidney Donaldson.
He took and thought for over half a year.
And then he made his mind up—steady and firm and clear—
To sacrifice his fortune and say good-bye to Beer!
'You're a fool,' said brother Brewers.
'And mad!' said the world outside.
'I've seen ... and I can't unsee it,'
John Donaldson replied.
'There are other ways of business that are happier ways and higher,
And I won't make another shilling out of Donaldson's Entire!'
. . . .