Ode

Friends of freedom! swell the song;
Young and old, the strain prolong,
Make the temp'rance army strong
And on to victory.
Lift your banners, let them wave,
Onward march the world to save;
Who would fill a drunkard's grave,
And bear his infamy?


Shrink not when the foe appears;
Spurn the coward's guilty fears;
Hear the shrieks, behold the tears
Of ruined families!
Raise the cry in every spot--
"Touch not--Taste not--Handle not,"
Who would be a drunken sot,
The worst of miseries?


Give the aching bosom rest;
Carry joy to every breast;
Make the wretched drunkard blest,
By living soberly.
Raise the glorious watchward high--
"Touch not, taste not, till you die!"
Let the echo reach the sky,
And earth keep jubilee.


God of mercy! hear us plead,
For thy help we intercede!
See how many bosoms bleed!
And heal them speedily.
Hasten, Lord, the happy day,
When beneath thy gentle ray,
Temp'rance all the world shall sway,
And reign triumphantly.