Drink! drink! drink!
Till manhood and pride are gone,
Drink over the grave of self-respect,
And then in despair drink on.
Drink! drink! drink!
Drink at the fearful cost
Of knowing that though still cursed with life,
Yet hope is forever lost.
Our brightest go down to death,
We cannot our dearest save;
And we dare not think of the judgment seat
That lieth beyond the grave.
Drink! drink! drink!
So many are licensed to sell,
Drink; you will surely find the house,
Whose guests find the way to hell.
Oh for the plighted band
Of those who are bound to save
Their fellow men from the fearful doom
That extends beyond the grave!
Alas! they are trying hard
To do, what they cannot do,
To wage a war to the uttermost,
And only hurt a few.
Bar, cellar, saloon,
Cellar, saloon and bar
Are swiftly, surely, doing their work
As those who in earnest are;
And the moderate drinker stands,
Kind, at the head of the way,
And opens the gate, with friendly hands,
Of the road that leads astray.
Of the road that leads astray,
And never will stop to think
That the shroud is sewed, and the grave is dug,
For the lost by moderate drink;
And the banded are loath to strike,
They have friends on the other side,
And therefore "Hell hath enlarged herself"
And opened her mouth so wide
The strong and the brave are lost,
Do we keep the tender and fair?
Does the demon who strikes down fathers and sons,
All the daughters and sisters spare?
Bar cellar saloon
Cellar, saloon and bar,—
Oh! who will preach a new crusade,
Or join in this holy war?
With garments for sorrow torn,—
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat by a new made grave,
Bewailing over the dead
Weep! weep! weep!
How many will weep in vain?
How many will rise in a holy cause,
That the slayer may be slain?
COMFORT YE, COMFORT YE MY PEOPLE
(Noel.)
By the sad fellowship of human suffering,
By the bereavements that are thine and mine,
I venture—oh, forgive me!—with this offering,
I would it were to thee God's oil and wine