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1
Tobacco is an Indian weed,
Grows green at morn, is cut down at eve;
It shows our decay;
We fade as hay.
Think on this,—when you smoke tobacco.
2
The pipe that is so lily-white,
Wherein so many take delight,
Gone with a touch;
Man's life is such,
Think on this,—when you smoke tobacco.
3
The pipe that is so foul within,
Shews how the soul is stained with sin;
It doth require
The purging fire.
Think on this,—when you smoke tobacco.
4