Drink, drink, drink, Till power of sense is gone, Drink, drink, drink, Till it's of health and wealth both shorn; Beer, brandy, gin and rum, Rum, brandy, gin and beer, Till the glorious form of manhood's lost In the beast that you now appear! Oh! men with thoughtful minds, Oh! men with a reason fair, Tread not in the paths that drunkards go-- From demon drink, stand clear. Drink, drink, drink, Both in slums and great highway, Is a curse that we too often meet In our walks by night or day. But why do I thus depict That fell demon of the soul? I do but so that my fellow men Themselves from drink control. Themselves from drink control, Because of the scenes we see! Oh, God! to think that man should seek In drink his misery! Drink, drink, drink, But soon the time will come, And what will be the end? a soul that's lost, A drunkard's wretched home Where sorrow is found, and mark the cost-- Neither victuals, fire, or light With a starving wife near the close of life To meet the drunkard's sight! Drink, drink, drink, From morning until night, Drink, drink, drink, 'Tis the drunkard's sole delight. Beer, brandy, gin, and rum, Rum, brandy, gin, and beer, Till his health is gone and his wealth as well, For the demon nought will spare. Drink, drink, drink, In mansion as well as in cot, 'Tis drink, drink, drink, With the highest and lowest sot; While toiling thousands sleep Their rest of calm content, In gilded palaces round about, The night's in riot spent. Oh! that the world would shun, That demon in form of drink; And would reason within themselves And from its presence shrink! Oh! how might the soul of wayward man, Rejoice in freedom then-- And be better far in health and wealth-- And better far as men. Oh! but that men would see, The sorrow that drink entails! The orphan's cry and the madman's shout, As well the widow's wails. A curse to body, as well as soul, Sends thousands to their grave; And makes of Man, God's noblest work, A low dejected slave. * * * * * THE SONG OF "THE CASE." (_A Reminiscence of the late Session_). With spirits drooping and worn, With eyelids heavy as lead, The members sat on their seats in the House, And wearily longed for bed; While "Tich, Tich, Tich," With gruesome and long-drawn face, "The Doctor," with voice of dolorous pitch, Sang the Song of "the Case." "Tich, Tich, Tich, In spite of all reproof; And Tich, Tich, Tich, Though the members stand aloof, It's I that ought to be classed Along with Chatham and Burke, And I'll never cease to raise my voice Against such monstrous work!"