Hymn

O! shun the bowl--as thou wouldst leave
The poison'd spot where reptiles crawl;
Lest widow'd hearts for thee should grieve--
For thee untimely tears should fall.


Yea! thine may be the fearful lot
To prove, ere Time bath dimm'd thy brow,
A sire--and yet the witness not
Of them who weep his broken vow.


Hast thou a bride whose every sigh
Deep trembles with the joy it gives?
Hast thou a child whose meek mild eye
Lives in the light its father lives?


Then shun the bowl--the draught beware,
Whose smile but mocks the lips of men;
When foaming high with waters rare--
O never touch the goblet then!