To Teetotallers

Press on ye band who nobly brave
A world's unpitying scorn;
Ye stand erect in virtue's cause,
By virtue's strength upborne.


Can scorn unfix creation's base,
Or shake the throne of God?
Can taunts, however fierce, disarm
Stern justice of her rod?


No! nor shall they daunt your zeal,
Nor bend your souls to yield;
But ye shall wave, exultingly,
Your banners o'er the field.


No dying groans, no mother's shriek,
Shall mar your triumph hymn,
No blood shall stain your battle flag,
No cloud your glories dim!


But there shall follow in your train
A holy, happy throng,
The wise and good will soon abstain,
And join the conq'rer's song.