In spite of all his mother’s prayers, And all her ten long years of cares, And all her broken spirit’s cry That drunkard’s finger puts them by, And Jimmy turns. And now I see That just as Dick was, Jim will be, And all my life will have been vain. I might have spared myself the pain, And done the world a blessed riddance If I’d a drowned ’em all like kittens. And he the sot, so strong and proud, Who’d make white shirts of’s mother’s shroud, He laughs now, it’s a joke to him, Though it’s the gates of hell to Jim. ’I’ve had my heart burnt out like coal, And drops of blood wrung from soul Day in, day out, in pain and tears, For five and twenty wretched years; And he, he’s ate the fat and sweet, And loafed and spat at top of street, And drunk and leched from day till morrow, And never known a moment’s sorrow. He come out drunk from th’inn to look The day my little Ann was took; He sat there drinking, glad and gay, The night my girl was led astray; He praised my Dick for singing well, The night Dick took the road to hell; And when my corpse goes stiff and blind, Leaving four helpless souls behind, He will be there still, drunk and strong. It do seem hard. It do seem wrong. But "Woe to him by whom the offence," Says our Lord Jesus’ Testaments. Whatever seems, God doth not slumber Though He lets pass times without number. He’ll come with trump to call His own, And this world’s way’ll be overthrown. He’ll come with glory and with fire To cast great darkness on the liar, To burn the drunkard and the treacher, And do His judgment on the lecher, To glorify the spirits’ faces Of those whose ways were stony places, Who chose with Ruth the better part; O Lord, I see Thee as Thou art, O God, the fiery four-edged sword, The thunder of the wrath outpoured, The fiery four-faced creatures burning, And all the four-faced wheels all turning, Coming with trump and fiery saint. Jim, take me home, I’m turning faint.’ They went, and some cried, ’Good old sod. ’She put it to him straight, by God.’ Summat she was, or looked, or said, Went home and made me hang my head. I slunk away into the night Knowing deep down that she was right. I’d often heard religious ranters, And put them down as windy canters, But this old mother made me see The harm I done by being me, Being both strong and given to sin I ’tracted weaker vessels in. So back to bar to get more drink, I didn’t dare begin to think, And there were drinks and drunken singing, As though this life were dice for flinging; Dice to be flung, and nothing furder, And Christ’s blood just another murder. ’Come on, drinks round, salue, drink hearty. Now, Jane, the punch-bowl for the party. If any here won’t drink with me I’ll knock his bloody eyes out. See? Come on, cigars round, rum for mine, Sing us a smutty song, some swine.’ But though the drinks and songs went round That thought remained, it was not drowned. And when I’d rise to get a light I’d think, ’What’s come to me to-night?’