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C. M.

THE VICTIM.

HAND me the bowl, ye jovial band,"
He said, "'twill rouse my mirth ;"
But conscience seized his trembling hand,
And dash'd the cup to earth.

He look'd around, he blush'd, he laugh'd,
He sipp'd the sparkling wave;

In it he read, "who drinks this draught,
Shall dig a murderer's grave!”

He started up like one from sleep
And trembled for his life;

He gazed, he saw-his children weep,
He saw his weeping wife.

In his deep dream he had not felt
Their agonies and fears;

But now he saw them as they knelt,
To plead with prayers and tears.

But the foul fiend, her hateful spell
Threw o'er his wildered mind,

He saw in every hope a hell,
He was to reason blind.

He grasp'd the bowl to seek relief;
No more his conscience said:

His bosom friend was sunk in grief,
His children begged for bread.

Through haunts of horror and of strife,
He pass'd down life's dark tide;
He curs'd his beggar'd babes and wife;
He curs'd his God-and died!

THE DYING DRUNKARD.

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.

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C. M.

ELP us to feel for drunken man,
In all his sin and wo;

And let our bright example teach
The way he ought to go.

1

2 Let not our conduct harden him;
But fill our souls with care,

To snatch him from the pit of death,
And break the fatal snare.

3. Inflam'd with love and holy zeal,
Ne'er would we cease to pray,
And watch and strive that he may reach,
The realms of endless day.

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H Must thy pure eyes

[OW long, O God, how long

behold
This fair world blasted by the wrong
Man does to man for gold!

How long shall reason be cast down,
And a fierce demon wear her crown!

The prisoner's cell, that all

Life's blessed light bedims,

J. Burns.

The lash that cuts, the links that gall
The poor slave's festering limbs-
What is this thraldom, to the chain
That binds and burns the drunkard's brain!

If, then, thy frown is felt,

O God, by those who bind

The body-what must be the guilt
Of such as chain the mind-

Drag to the pit,-and plunge it in !-
O, have not these "the greatest sin ?"

The mother of our race,

Whose sin brought death and wo,
Yet, in her weakness, found thy grace:--
The TEMPTER's curse we know.
Doth he who drinks wrong most the soul?
Or, he who tempts him to the bow!?

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Help us, O God, to weigh

Our deeds as in thy scales,

Nor let gold dust the balance sway;
For good o'er gold prevails

At that dread bar, where all must look
Upon the record, in THY BOOK.

L. M.

"ONLY THIS ONCE."

Pierpont.

ONLY this once the wine-cup glowed

All sparkling with its ruby ray;

The bacchanalian welcome flowed,
And folly made the revel gay.

Then he, so long, so deeply warned,
The sway of conscience rashly spurned;
His promise of repentance scorned,
And, coward-like, to vice returned.

"Only this once;"-the tale is told;
He wildly quaffed the poisonous tide;
With more than Esau's madness, sold
The birthright of his soul, and died,

I do not say that breath forsook
The clay, and left its pulses dead;
But reason in her empire shook,
And all the life of life was fled.

Again his eyes the landscape viewed;
His limbs again their burden bore;
And years their wonted course renewed;
But hope and peace returned no more.

L. H. S.

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THE MISCHIEFS OF DRINKING.

W when we think of sighs and tears,

WHEN we think of chill starvation,

When we think of pale privation,

When we think of doubts and fears;

2 When we think of raging madness,
When we think of reckless beings,
When we think of death-like sadness,-
Nature's most distressing scene's ;

3 When we think of horrid murder,
Female virtue lost in crime;
When we think of black self-slaughter,
Let us ever bear in mind,

4 That the cursed love of drinking
Hath produced the greater part;
And that thousands now are sinking,
Pierc'd by dissipation's dart.

C. M.

1GO self-polluted loathsome wretch,

The scourge of human kind,

Go waste thy substance and thy state,
And brutalize thy mind.

2 Go haunt the taverns night and day,
The time thus spent in vain,

Will bring disease and wo and death,
And barter peace for pain.

3 Go like a demon to thy house,
Destroy each comfort there;
And from thy sorrowing family
Wring out the bitter tear.

J. Hird.