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The Drunkard's Doom
At dawn of day, I saw a man
Stand by a grog saloon.
His eyes were sunk, his lips were parched;
Oh, that's the drunkard's doom.
His little son stood by his side,
Then to his father said,
"Father, Mother lies sick at home
And Sister cries for bread."
He rose and staggered to the bar,
As oft he'd done before,
And to the landlord, smiling, said:
"Just fill me one glass more."
The cup was filled at his command;
He drank the poisoned bowl.
He drank, while wife and children starved,
And ruined his own soul.
A year had passed, I went that way,
A hearse stood at the door.
I paused to ask, and one replied,
"The drunkard is no more."
I saw the hearse move slowly on,
Nor wife nor child was there.
They, too, had flown to Heaven's bright
home,
And left a world of care.
Now, all young men, a warning take,
And shun the poisoned bowl.
'Twill lead you down to Hell's dark gate
And ruin your own soul.
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