The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1912-05-23
VERSES ON DRINK.
Written and Read in Appleton in 1877 by
the Late Thomas A. Gushee.
TRockland Courier Gazette I

An Appleton correspondent sends us
the following verses which she has copiec
from manuscript left by the late Thomas
A. Gushee. They were written by Mr.
Gushee in 1877 and read by him before
the local temperance society of that
town. Mr.. Gushee was for many years
valued contributor to The Courier.
Gazette and was the winner of the chief
prize (S3) offered by this Paper for the
worst poem." The contest Git took
place sometime in the 'SOs) was a memo
rable one, fully 100 poems" being con-
tributed from all parts of the country.
His worst poem," however, was not a
measure of Mr.. Gushee's abilities as a
writer of verses, for he had an excellent
sense of rhyme and metre, as the accom-
panying lines indicate:
THE DRINKER.
Il drink to make me work. said a
young man. An ola man replied: "That' s
right. Thee drink and it will make thee
work. Hearken to me a moment and
III tell thee something that may do thee
good. | was once prosperous farmer.
| had a good loving wife and two fine
lads as ever the sun shone on. We had a
comfortable home and lived happily to-
gether. But we used to drink ale to
make US work. Those two lads | have
laid in drunkard's graves. My wife
died broken-hearted and now lies by her
two sons. am u years of age. Had
1t not been for drink l might now have
been an Independent gentleman, but |
used to drink to make me work, and
mark, it makes me work now. At 70
years of age l am obliged to work for
my daily bread. Drink! and it will make
you Work!'
was like the strong man wounded,
Stript of raiment, money all,
Robbed by thieves of all my substance,
None to mark my early fall.
Priests in passing came not nigh me;
Levites too would hurry by me,
Lying bleeding by the wall
have lived life of pleasure,
had quaffed the flowing bowl;
Gone were youth and health and treasure,
Lost my power of self control.
Oh, the thought of manhood wasted,
Oh, the miseries that tasted,
Oh. the grave to which hasted,
God have mercy on my soul
Memory brings the recollection
Of guileless, happy youth;
Sweet, oh, sweet the retrospection
Painted by the hand of Truth
Prudent seemed my sainted mother,
Near me too my noble brother,
And more dear than all, another
My delirious brain to soothe.
But the anguish oft recurring
Banished visions of my wife,
Every nerve and fiber stirring
With the painful, awful strife.
AS thus lay fainting. bleeding,
Earthly objects seemed receding,
While my inmost soul was pleading,
Wildly pleading for my life.
Then a stranger from Samaria
Saw my helpless, wretched state,
And though caste had raised barrier,
Did my case commiserate.
In my helpless plight ne found me,
Threw his loving arms around me,
Safe upon his breast he bound me,
Brought me home where loved ones wait.
Poured the oil of consolation
Into every quivering wound,
Nursed me till full restoration
In his happy home found.
God had heard my strong petition,
Pitied my forlorn condition,
And throughout my earthly mission
Shall my lips his praises sound.
In Gods vineyard let US labor
Till our day of toll is Ger;
The inebriate is our neighbor,
He is robbed and wounded sore.
By the hope of heaven above us,
By the smiles of those who love US,
Let these precious motives move US
All to labor evermore.