The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1885-11-11
TEMPERANCE TOPICS.

TEMPERANCE IUFlUn'
ssIf It Was Not for tho Drink"
IT'S close upon the midnight chimes,
The fire is burning low,
My eyes are blinded so with tears
Icannot see to sew;
I'm faint and hungry, and I fain
Would eat q crust Of bread,
But I must leave it till the morn,
The children must be fed.
I sent them early to their bed,
Their hunger to forget,
And stole to see them as they slept,
But still their cheeks were wet.
I little thought five years ago,
That we to this should sink
And we might all be happy still,
If it was not for the drink.
We have but rags upon US now,
Our clothes are all in pawn,
And one by one the things I loved
For rent and food are gone.
There's nothing but my shadow now
Across the empty space
Where our old clock stood, year after year,
With its round and CHEEKY face.
I used to like to hear it tick,
And to see the hour draw n
That brought my Joe again to me
When his days work was done.
But when I hear his footstep now
My heart begins to sink;
Yet he would be so kind and good
If it was not for the drink.
I'm thankful that your mothers LOT
Can never rest on you,
My Lizzie with the 1axen curls,
And eyes so large and blue.
There seemed no bitterness in death,
AS I stood beside your grave,
For the Heavenly Shepherd had stopped
down,
The weakest lamb to save.
You'll never cry again, my child,
With hunger or with cold,
For the sound of weeping is not hear
In the city all Of gold.
Yet still I miss your little face,
And the tears fall as I think
I might have had you with me still,
If there had not been the drink."
Oh! sometimes when I'm sitting here
I wish that l were dead,
And resting in the quiet grave
My weary heart and head;
But then again I look around
On Johnnie and on Kate,
And call the wish back as 1 think
OF what would be their fate,
Without my hands to wash and mend
Without my hands to strive
To earn a little bit of bread
To keep US just alive,
For it's very, very seldom now,
That / hear Joe's wages chink
But he would bring them all to me,
If it was not for the drink.
All me! it is a bitter grief
To feel ones love and trust
Have leaned upon a broken reed,
And built upon the dustl
This bruise is sore-but, obi my heart
Is sorer still to know,
And try to hide, whose hand it was
That struck the cruel blow.
For the drink has got that hold on Joe,
That he can't tell wrong from right;
He's dark and sullen in the morn,
But he's worse, far worse, at night.
And wicked words he often says
That make me start and shrink
But they would never pass his lips,
If it was not for the drink.
I feel ashamed to 60 to church,
Though a comfort it would be-,
For the folk would think l came to beg,
If they my rags should see.
IT'S very long since l have had
A gown that was not old,
And my bonnet has been soaked with rain,
And my Sunday shawl is sold;
And so l have to stay ut home,
And silently to pray
That God would pity my poor Joe,
And take his sin away;
While he sits sleeping heavily =
Without the power to think;
Yet he would think, and he would pray,
If it was not for the drink.
It makes me mad to see the man,
Who sells the curse 60 by
With his glittering rings and chain Of gold.
Holding his head so high.
IT'S hard to see his wife and girls
In silks and satins shine,
And to know the money that they spend
Should some of it be mine.
And I'm ready oftentimes to wish
That all the drink could be,
With those that make and those that sell,
Flung down into the sea;
For almost all the country's woe
And crime would with them sink.
And men might have the chance for good,
If it was not for the drink.
Il L. Westcombe.