Child and Sire
“KNOW you what intemperance is?”
I asked a little child,
Who seemed too young to sorrow know,
So beautiful and mild.
It raised its tiny, blue-veined hand,
And to a church-yard near
It pointed, whilst from glistening eye
Came forth the silent tear.
“Yes, for yonder, in that grave,
Is my father lying;
And these words he spake to me
While he yet was dying:
“‘Mary, when the sod lies o’er me
And an orphan child thou art,—
When companions ask thy story,
Say intemperance aimed the dart.
When the gay the wine-cup circle,
Praise the nectar that doth shine,
When they’d taste, then tell thy story,
And to earth they’ll dash the wine.’
“And there my dear-loved mother lies,—
What bitter tears I’ve shed
Over her grave!-I cannot think
That she is really dead.
And when the spring in beauty blooms,
At morning’s earliest hour
I hasten there, and o’er her grave
I plant the little flower.
“And patiently I watch to see
It rise from out the earth,
To see it from its little grave
Spring to a fairer birth.
For mother said that thus would she,
And father, too, and I,
Arise from out our graves to meet
In mansions in the sky.
“O, what intemperance is, there’s none
On earth can better tell.
Intemperance me an orphan made,
In this wide world to dwell;
Intemperance broke my mother’s heart,
It took my father’s life,
And makes the days of man below
With countless sorrows rife.”
“Know you what intemperance is?”
I asked a trembling sire,
Whose lamp of life burned dim, and seemed
As though ’twould soon expire.
He raised his bow‚d head, and then
Methought a tear did start,
As though the question I had put
Had reached his very heart.
He raised his head, but ’t was to bow
It down again and sigh;
Methought that old man’s hour had come
In which he was to die.
Not so; he raised it up again,
And boldly said, “I can!
Intemperance is the foulest curse
That ever fell on man.
“I had a son, as fair, as bright
As ever mortal blest;
And day passed day, and year passed year,
Whilst I that son carest.
For all my hopes were bound in him;
I thought, from day to day,
That when old age should visit me
That son would be my stay.
“I knew temptations gathered near,
And bade him warning take,—
Consent not, if enticed to sin,
E’en for his father’s sake.
But in a fearful hour he drank
From out the poisonous bowl,
And then a pang of sorrow lodged
Within my inmost soul.
“A year had passed, and he whom I
Had strove in vain to save
Fell, crushed beneath intemperance,
Into a drunkard’s grave.
O, brother, I can tell to thee
What vile intemperance is,
When one in whom I fondly hoped
Met such an end as his!
“This was not all; a daughter I
Was blest with, and she passed
Before me like an angel-form
Upon my pathway cast.
She loved one with a tender love,
She left her father’s side,
And stood forth, in her robes of white,
A young mechanic’s bride.
“She lived and loved, and loved and lived,
For many a happy year;
No sorrow clouded o’er her path,
But joy was ever near.
Ay, those were pleasant hours we spent,
Were joyful ones we passed;
Alas! too free from care were they
On earth to always last.
“Then he was tempted, tasted, drank,
And then to earth he fell;
And ever after misery
Within that home did dwell.
And soon he died, as drunkards die,
With scarce an earthly friend,
Yet one bent o’er him tenderly
Till life itself did end,
“And when life’s chord was broken, when
His spirit went forth free,
In all her anguish then she came
To bless and comfort me.
Yet she, too, died, ere scarce twelve months
Had passed o’er her head,
And in yon much-loved church-yard now
She resteth with the dead.
That little child you spoke to is
The child she left behind;
I love her for her mother’s sake,
And she is good and kind.
And every morning, early, to
Yon flowery grave she’ll go;
And I thank my God she’s with me
To bless me here below.
“I had a brother, but he died
The drunkard’s fearful death;
He bade me raise a warning voice
Till Time should stay my breath.
And thousands whom in youth I loved
Have fallen ’neath the blast
Of ruin which intemperance
Hath o’er the wide world cast.”
He spoke no more,—the gushing tears
His furrowed cheeks did leap;
The little child came quick to know
What made the old man weep.
He, trembling, grasped my hand and said
(The little child grasped his),
“May you ne’er know, as I have known,
What sad intemperance is!”
And since that hour, whene’er I look
Around me o’er the earth,
And see the wine-cup passing free
’Mid scenes of festive mirth,
I think how oft it kindleth up
Within its raging fire,
And fain would tell to all the truths
I heard from “Child and Sire.”