Phillipsburg herald. [volume] (Phillipsburg, Kan.) 1882-1905, 1884-06-05
POoR-HOUsE NAN.
BY MRS. LUCY NJ. BLINN.

anu I0IG al alone!
Jim was my son; and a ikeIer lad you'd
never wish to see,
Till evil eounSels won his heart and led
him away from me.
IT'S the old and pitiful story, sir, of the
DEVILS winding stair,
And men going down-and dOwn-and
down-to blaekRess and deSpaiE;
Tossing about like wrecks al sea, with
helm and anchor lost,
On, and on, through the surging waves,
nor caring to count the cost;
doubt sometimes if the Savior sees
he seems so far away
How the souls he loved and died tor,
are drifting-drifting astray!
Indeed, tbs little wonder, sir, if woman
shrinks and cries,
When the Hfe-blOOd on RUNS alter
spilled is calling to the skies!
Small wonder if her own heart feels
each sacrifcial blow,
For isn't each life q spaTt.of hsrs2 each
pain her hurt and woe?
Read all the records of crime and
shame-'tis bitterly, sadly true;
Where manliness and honor die, there
some wOman's heart dies toe!
Often | think, when l hear folks talk SO
prettily and so fine,
Of ''AlchOhol as a needful food; IS of
''the moderate use of wines"
How ''the world couldn't do without it,
there was clearly no other way,
But for man to drink, or let it alone, as
his own strong will might say;'
That ''to use it but not to abuse it was
the proper thing to dO:'
How wish they'd let old Poor House
Nan preach her little sermon too!
would give them scenes in woman's
life, that would make their pulses stir,
For was drunkard's child and wife
aye, drunkard's mother, sir!
would tell of childish terrOrs, of child
ish tears and pain;
OF cruel blows from a fathers hand,
when rum had craZed his brain;
He always said he could drink his ill,
or let it alone. as well:
Perhaps he might; he was killed one
night-in a grog-shOp hell!
would tell of years of loveless toll the
drunkard's child had passed,
With just one CLEAN of sunshine, too
beautiful to last!
When l married Tom thought for sure
had nothing more to fear;
That lite would come all rig hit at last
the world seemed full of cheer;
But he took to moderate drinking: he
allowed twas harmless thing,
So the arrow sped, and my bird Of Hope
came down with broken wing!
Tom was only moderate drinkor; ah.
sir, do you bear in mind
How the Flooding tortoise in the race
left the leaping hare behindP
Twas because he held right ON and on,
steady and true, if slow;
And that's the way, I'm thinking. that
the moderate drinkers gOP
Step over step-day after day-with
sleepless. tireless pace,
While the topper sometimes looks be-
hind and tarries in the race!
All, heavily in the well-worn path poor
Tom walked, day by day,
For my heartstrings chung about his feet
and tangled up the way;
The days were dark, and friends were
gone, and life dragged on full slow;
And children came, like reaperS sad TO
q harvest of want and woe!
Two of them died, and was glad when
they lay before me dead;
had grown so weary OF their cries
their pitiful cries for bread!
There came a time when my heart was
stone; could neither hope or pray
Poor Tom lay out i'll the J'Otter's field,
and my boy had gone astray.
My boy who had been my idol; while
like hounds athirst for blood,
Between my breaking heart and him
the liquor seller stood
nd - I'd
words, his pleasures and his wine
All, God have pity on other hearts, as
bruised and hurt as mine.
There were whispers OF evil-dOing, Of
dishOnOr, and of shame,
That | cannot bear to think of now, and
would not dare to namei
There was hiding away from the light
OF day, there was creeping about at
night,
A hurried word of parting-then a
criminals stealthy flight!
His lips were white with remOrse and
fright, when he gave me goOdby kiss
And I've never seen my poor, lost boy
from that black day to this!
All, none but a mother can tell you, sir,
how mothers heart will ache,
With the sorrow that comes of a SHINING
child, with grief for lost ones sake,
" hen she knows the feet she trained TO
walk have gone SO far astray,
And the lips grown bold with curses.
chat she taught to sing and pray,
| A child may fear-a wife may weep /;
but OF all sad things, none other
! Seems half so sorroWful to me as being
q drunkard's mother!
]
They tell me that down in the vilest
dens of the city's crime and murk,
| There are men with the hearts OF angels
doing the angels work;
! That they win back the lost and stray'd
that they help the weak TO stand
By the wonderful power of loving words