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