Miseries of Intemperance

Amid thy palaces a demon roams;
Frenzied with rage, yet subtle in his wrath, 
He crushes thousands in his fiery path;
Stalks through our cities unabashed, and throws 
Into the cup of sorrow bitterer woes — 
Gives to the pangs of grief an added smart, 
With keenest anguish wrings the breaking heart;
Drags the proud spirit from its envied height, 
And breathes on fondest hopes a killing blight;
Heralds the shroud, the coffin, and the pall, 
And the graves thicken where his footsteps fall!

Ho! for the rescue! ye whose eyes have seen 
The ruin wrought where drunkenness hath been —
Ye who have gazed upon the speechless grief 
Of early widowhood, that mocked relief — 
Ye who have heard the orphan's struggling sigh, 
When, mad with agony, he prayed to die — 
Ye who have marked the crimes and shames that throng,
Like stateless fiends, the drunkard's way along —
Ye who can tell his everlasting doom, 
When darkly over him shall close the tomb —
Up for the conflict! — let your battle-peal 
Ring in the air, as rings the clash of steel, 
When, rank to rank, contending armies meet, 
Trampling the dead beneath their bloody fees.
Up! ye are bidden to a nobler strife — 
Not to destroy, but rescue human life;
No added drop in misery's cup to press, 
But minister relief to wretchedness —
To give the long-lost father to his boy— 
To cause the widow's heart to sing for joy — 
Bid plenty laugh where hungry famine scowls, 
And pour the sunlight o'er the tempest's howls —
Bring to the soul that to despair is given, 
A new found joy, a holy hope of heaven!