The Donaldsonville chief. [volume] (Donaldsonville, La.) 1871-current, 1883-06-16

FOUND DEAD.

sIeund dead in doorway on Chestnut street,
just when the night and morning meet,
] An elderly man, with seant gray hair.
| And all that told what brought him there,
Was bottle OF brandy, or gin, or rum
To show that the murder by drink was done.
Pees adogn ds I'll he eyaT nus
| lcicles formed in his tangled hair,
Eroze to his temples and crusted there.
Stiff were the fingers, SO wrinkled and thin,
Through rents and tatters the ice-breath crept
| Blue, cgId and frosensLe poor tired feet,
Covered alone by the bitter nights sleet,
DoYn II his eyes the gas-light glared,
ONT in the whirling. binding snow,
| Nobody knew and melody cared
| How either the soul or the body Jared;
ensy the bottle the story told,
Homeless and helpless, friendless and old.
StupeHeds suffering, starving, sick,
Begging q bed and getting kick.
Showed aside by q cold, selfish world
Careless how soon to eternity hurled.
Dh! the ushering out of that lonely soul,
No bell in the tall, grand steeple to toll.
ths 20 ,ta ana weep
Only the trees with their skeleton arms,
Against the sky at the winds alarms.
Long, long ago on a fond mothers breast,
He may have been pillowsd to innocent rest.
Mother love bent over him, over him wept,
Over him many long vigil kept,
Fondled him tenderly, tenderly smiled,
TUT Ill 5lA6 past Q0 WAS SOMEBODY 8 ClliO,
somebody's darling, somebody's pet,
For mother love then was as mother love yet.
Smooth back the scattered locks from his brow,
As did that mother once. strangers do now;
Lift him up tenderly, bear him away,
Jeer not at his weakness, or cruel words say,
For the sake OF the white hairs, though fallen
SO low,
How much he was tempted we none of us know.
After him long years the foe may have crept,
Watching him while waking, still watched while
he slept.
Robbing him. torturing, stealing his youth,
Sowing the seed Of this hours ruth,
Iaunting him, sneering, crushing him down,
Sending him staggering out on the town,
Out ct e happy home, out of its light,
H9t INTO de despair, pan darkness, glpomiest night.
we only see with Orr earth visions week,
As mortals we judge as mortals we speak;
But above there is One all true and all wise,
Who, looking down from the calm upper skies,
And reading each heart IN its secret Thought,
Comprehends, understands, when we discern
not.
Heeds he not even the sparrow's fall?
Saved he not even the thief on the tree?
Such WAS our lesson on dear Calvary.
But weep for the living, oh! shudder for them
Weep for the fallen the tempted of men!
Moan, moan for the widows and orphans rum
makes.
Moan, moan for the hearts that the rumseller
breaks,
Then look on the bubbles that dance on the
And shudderingly see the dark precipice ledge.
In that cups honeyed depth there is direst woe;
DO you doubt 1t! DO you doubt that dead man
found it SO?
Dead, dead in doorway on Chestnut street,
No more life trials and sorrows to meet,
Thence to the steps of the great white throne,
Into His presence, who sltteth thereon,
The greatest Maker of the greatest laws,
The greatest Judge Of the criminals cause.
Dead, dead in doorway, alone all alone,
Only the night winds to echo his moan;
But above from his throne the great Judge saw,
The Judge who judges the liquor law,
The liquor itself, the accursed thing,
The liquor traffic. the liquor king.