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2o |
WOES OF INTEMPERANCE, |
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20 C. m.
THE DYING DRUNKARD.
1 STRETCH'D on a heap of straw—his bed— The dying drunkard lies;
His joyless wife supports his head, And to console him, tries :
2 His weeping children's love would ease
His spirit, but in vain; Their ill-paid love destroys his peace He'll never smile again.
3 His boon companions—where are they ?—
They shar'd his heart and bowl, Yet come not nigh to charm away, The horrors from his soul.
4 What have such friends to do with those
Who press the couch of pain ? Ah ! he is racked with mortal throes— He'll never rise again !
5 And where is mercy in that hour
Of dread, and pain, and guilt! Though Jesus blood, of matchless power, For man's sear'd soul was spilt;
6 If Justice spurn the fear-urg'd prayer,
That stream has flow'd in vain ; And, lock'd in thy embrace, despair! He'll never hope again.
21 C. M.
1 HELP us to feel for drunken man,
In all his sin and wo ; And let our bright example teach The way he ought to go. |
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