The Use and Need of the Life of Carrie A. Nation [127]
I've been ashamed to see you; I knew it broke you down,
To think you had brought up a boy to harm his native town.
I've given it all up, mother; I'll never sell it more.
I've smashed the casks and barrels, I've shut and locked the door.
I've signed the temperance pledge--the women stood and sang,
The clergymen gave three hearty cheers, and all the church bells rang.
But one thing seemed to haunt me, as I came home to you;
Of all the wrongs that I have done not one can I undo.
There's old Judge White, just dropping into a drunkard's grave;
I've pushed him down with every drop of brandy that I gave.
And there's young Tom Eliot--was such a trusty lad,
I made him drink the first hot glass of rum he ever had.
Since then, he drinks night after night, and acts a ruffian's part,
He has maimed his little sister, and broke his mother's heart.
And there is Harry Warner, who married Bessie Hyde,
He struck and killed their baby when it was sick, and cried,
And I poured out the poison, that made him strike the blow,
And Bessie raved and cursed me, she is crazy now, you know.
I tried to act indifferent, when I saw the women come,
There was Ryan's wife, whose children shivered and starved at home,
He'd paid me, that same morning, his last ten cents for drink,
And when I saw her poor, pale face, it made me start and shrink.
There was Tom Eliot's mother, wrapped in her widow's veil,
And the wife of Brown, the merchant, my whiskey made him fail;
And my old playmate, Mary, she stood amid the band,
Her white cheek bore a livid mark, made by her husband's hand.
It all just overcome me; I yielded then and there,
And Elder Sharpe, be raised his hand, and offered up a prayer.
I know that he forgave me, I couldn't help but think
Of his own boy, his only son, whom I had taught to drink.
So I have come back, father, to the home that gave me birth,
And I will plow and sow and reap the gifts of mother earth.
Yet, if I prove a good son now, and worthy of you two,
My heart is heavy with the wrongs I never can undo.
SHE'S COMING ON THE FREIGHT.
Or, The joint Keeper's Dilemma.
Say, Billy, git ten two-by-four
'Nd twenty six-by-eight,
'Nd order from the hardware store
Ten sheets of boiler plate,
'Nd 'phone the carpenter to come
Most mighty quick--don't wait,
For there's a story on the streets
She's coming on the freight.
O, many years I've carried on
My business in this town;
I've helped elect its officers
From mayor Dram clear down;
I've let policemen, fer a wink,
Get jags here every day;
Say, Billy, get a move on, fer
She's headed right this way.
I don't mind temp'rance meetin's
When they simply resolute,
Fer after all their efforts bring
But mighty little fruit;
But when crowbars and hatchets
'Nd hand axes fill the air--
Say, Billy, git that boiler iron
Across the window there!
It beats the nation--no, I think
The Nation's beatin' me,
When I can pay a license here
And still not sell it free;
Fer I must keep my customers
Outside 'nd make 'em wait,
Because the story's got around
She's comin' on the freight.
There, Billy, now we've got her--
Six-eights across the door,
'Nd solid half-inch boiler iron
Where plate glass showed before;
But, Bill, before that freight arrives
Ye'd better take a pick
'Nd pry that cellar window loose,
So we can git out quick. ED. BLAIR.
A. WOMAN.
(Dedicated to Mrs. Carry Nation.)
When Kansas joints are open wide
To ruin men on every side,
What power can stem their lawless tide?
A woman.
When many mother's hearts have bled
And floods of sorrow's tears are shed,
Who strikes the serpent on the head?
A woman.
When boys are ruined every day
And older ones are led astray,
Who boldly strikes and wins the fray?
A. woman.
When drunkenness broods o'er the home,
Forbidding