I.
Ho, brothers! dash the bottle
That pleases but to kill,
And on with us to throttle
The Demon of the Still;
The monster that is rushing
Through mingled tears and gore,
All ancient glory crushing
His horrid path before.
II.
From hell's eternal portals
The fiend in darkness came,
To bind on erring mortals
The chains of wo and shame;
Till, hurled from their position
Of glory and of power,
The darkness of perdition
Shall be their spirits’ dower!
III.
His course is marked by sorrow,
And change, and wasting care
The glad, to day—to morrow,
He'll leave in lone despair.
The generous fields forsaken—
The granary's empty hall
By every strong wind shaken,
And tottering to its fall—
IV.
The old and ruined dwelling
The broken hearts within
O! mournfully they're telling
Where long the fiend hath been;
He tramples down unsparing
The bright and golden grain,
Till fleshless Famine, staring,
Affrights his tattered train.
V.
In cottage and in palace,
Alike to high and low,
He pours his burning chalice
With bitter dregs of wo,—
And in the temple, stalking
Right proudly, he hath trod
In impious daring, mocking
The holy name of God.
VI.
The altar-stone is gory
With blood-drops of his slain—
The Christian's cup of glory
Hath caught the crimson stain.
And we have felt his power
To bind the human soul,
When once in evil hour
We quaffed his fiery bowl.
VII.
The wreck of human feeling—
The hopes of manhood gone—
The sorrows past revealing—
The load of heartless scorn—
With all the drunkard feeleth,
Of bitterness and shame,
When fast to ruin reeleth
His weak and tottering frame—
VIII.
All these have rested on us,
Ere Merey came to save,
And in soft pity, won us
From ruin and the grave.
But we have triumphed over
The terror of despair,
And in Thy name, Jehovah,
Escaped the Demon's snare.
IX.
And, now, right onward, brothers!
We’ll smite his horrid crest,
And win the joys for others,
That make our spirits bless'd.
What though his angered howling
Re-echo round out path?
What though his minions, scowling,
Gnash on us in their wrath?
X.
The fiend must fly forever!
The foe is on his track!
Our souls are fired, and never
Will we again turn back,
Till falls the awful Demon
Before our warriors brave,
And our bright "BANNER,” streaming,
Is planted o'er his grave.
George Shepard Burleigh
