24

1

8s. & 7s.

THE MISCHIEFS OF DRINKING.

WHEN we think of chill starvation,

W

When we think of sighs and tears, When we think of pale privation,

When we think of doubts and fears;

2 When we think of raging madness,

When we think of reckless beings,
When we think of death-like sadness,-
Nature's most distressing scene's ;

3 When we think of horrid murder,
Female virtue lost in crime;
When we think of black self-slaughter,
Let us ever bear in mind,

4 That the cursed love of drinking
Hath produced the greater part;
And that thousands now are sinking,
Pierc'd by dissipation's dart.

25

1

C. M.

Go self-polluted loathsome wretch,

The scourge of human kind,

Go waste thy substance and thy state,
And brutalize thy mind.

2 Go haunt the taverns night and day,
The time thus spent in vain,

Will bring disease and wo and death,
And barter peace for pain.

3 Go like a demon to thy house,
Destroy each comfort there;
And from thy sorrowing family
Wring out the bitter tear.

J. Hird

26

4 Enough, enough, if aught remains
Of virtue in thy soul;

Forsake thy foolish maddening life,
And scorn the treacherous bowl.

8s.

DRUNKARD'S ADDRESS TO WINE.

HOU liquid fire! like that which glowed,
For Paul upon Melita's shore,

Thou'st been upon my guests bestowed:
But thou shalt warm my house no more:
For wheresoe'er thy radiance falls,
Forth, from thy heat, a viper crawls!

2 What, though if gold the goblet be,

Embossed with branches of the vine,
Beneath whose burnished leaves we see
Such clusters as poured out the wine?
Among those leaves an adder hangs!
I fear him-for I've felt his fangs.

3 The Hebrew, who the desert trod,
And felt the fiery serpent's bite,
Looked up to that ordained of God,
And found that life was in the sight.
So, the WORM-bitten's fiery veins
Cool, when he drinks what God ordains.

4 Ye gracious clouds! ye deep cold wells!
Ye gems, from mossy rocks that drip!
Springs, that from earth's mysterious cells
Gush o'er your granite basin's lip!
To you I look ;-your largess give,
And I will drink of you, and live.

27

1

THE DRUNKARD'S LAMENT.

TID sorrows and sadness I'm destined to roam,

1'M Forlorn and forsaken, deprived of my home,

Intem'prance hath robb'd me of all that was dear, Of my home in the skies, and my happiness here, Home! home! sweet, sweet home!

An exile from God, I shall ne'er find a home.

2 I vainly presumed when I first took the cup, I could drink if I chose, or I could give it up; But I tampered too long, too long tempted heaven, 'Till an outcast from God and his presence I'm driven. Home! home! sweet, sweet home,

On earth or in heaven, I shall ne'er find a home.

3 My heart broken wife in her grave hath found rest, And my children have gone to the land of the blest; While I a poor wretch, a vile wanderer like Cain, With the "mark" of the beast on the earth still remain.

Home! home! sweet, sweet home!

How happy was I with my loved ones at home.

4 Farewell to the social endearments of home,
Justly loathed by my fellows I wander alone,
For presumptuously sinning and tempting the Lord,
Of the fruit of my ways, I must reap the reward.
Home! home! sweet, sweet home!

An exile from God, I shall ne'er find a home.

G. Russel.

28

1

M

C. M.

THE FUNERAL.

TOURNFUL and sad upon my ear
The death-bell echoes stole;
And painful memories opened all
The feelings of my soul.

2 The knell-the knell-it told of wo
That words cannot reveal-

Of desolate and broken hearts,
Where grief had set his seal.

3 Again it pealed-and on the air
It swelled and died along;
And to the dwelling of the dead
There came a weeping throng.

4 In tattered weeds, with trembling steps,
The widow led the train :
And her poor orphans followed on-
Sad sharers of her pain.

5 Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,

Clay to its kindred clay-

They left the dead—and wailed and wept,
And slowly moved away.

6 But ah! there hung a heavy cloud
Upon that husband's name;

And deep disgrace had settled down
Upon that father's fame.

7 There was a keenness in their grief,
A death-shade in their gloom--

As, desolate and fatherless,

They left the drunkard's tomb.

7s. & 6s.

1 TOP poor sinners, stop and think,
Before you further go;

Will you sport upon the brink
Of everlasting wo?

On the verge of ruin stop,

Now the friendly warning take,
Stay your footsteps-ere you drop
Into the burning lake.

2 Ghastly death will quickly come,
And drag you to his bar;
Then to hear your awful doom,
Will fill you with despair!
All your sins will round you crowd,
You shall mark their crimson dye;
Each for vengeance crying loud,
And what can you reply?

3 Tho' your heart were made of steel,
Your forehead lined with brass,
God at length will make you feel,
He will not let you pass;
Sinners then in vain will call,

Those who now despise his grace,
"Rocks and mountains on us fall,
And hide us from his face."

30

1

C. M.

Newfon.

A CALL TO REFORMATION.
E captives once to sin and shame,
By dire intemperance led,

YE

Whose thirst was like the fiery flame,
With burning spirits fed;

2 The noble forms your Maker gave
Were tottering to the dust,

Without a hope that Christ would save,
On Him ye could not trust;