 | Poems (1876) |  |
258
THE DRUNKARD'S PORTION.
Self-punish'd here the drunkard is,
With woes on ev'ry hand;
Guilt, poverty, and dark despair
Dance round,—a ghastly band!
With woes on ev'ry hand;
Guilt, poverty, and dark despair
Dance round,—a ghastly band!
Time lost, and all his prospects gone,
His trembling hands and heart
Declare his constitution done,
And he must soon depart.
His trembling hands and heart
Declare his constitution done,
And he must soon depart.
The wings of hope no plumage bear,
Faith, wounded, shrinks away;
While charity disheartened flies,
Where shines a brighter ray.
Faith, wounded, shrinks away;
While charity disheartened flies,
Where shines a brighter ray.
All language fails the curse to tell,
That drinking doth produce;
Within the soul it makes a hell,
And turns its legions loose.
That drinking doth produce;
Within the soul it makes a hell,
And turns its legions loose.
Words cannot reach the dread despair
The harden'd drunkard feels,
When by deep horrors hunted down,
And death close at his heels.
The harden'd drunkard feels,
When by deep horrors hunted down,
And death close at his heels.
Sighs cannot half his guilt express,
Nor yet the deepest groans,
When death assails his trembling breast,
When endless vengeance frowns.
Nor yet the deepest groans,
When death assails his trembling breast,
When endless vengeance frowns.
| Poems (1876) | |