Hymns and Odes for Temperance Occasions II: License Laws

"We license thee, for so much gold,"
Says Congress,--they're our servants there,--
"To keep a pen where men are sold
Of sable skin and woolly hair;
For 'public good' requires the toil
Of slaves on Freedom's sacred soil."


"For so much gold we license thee,"
So say our laws, "a draught to sell,
That bows the strong, enslaves the free,
And opens wide the gates of hell;
For 'public good' requires that some
Should live, since many die, by rum."


Ye civil fathers! while the foes
Of this destroyer seize their swords,
And Heaven's own hail is in the blows
They're dealing,--will YE cut the cords
That round the falling fiend they draw,
And o'er him hold your shield of law?


And will ye give to man a bill
Divorcing him from Heaven's high sway,
And, while God says, "Thou shalt not kill,"--
Say ye, for gold, "Ye may,--ye may"?
Compare the body with the soul!
Compare the bullet with the bowl!


In which is felt the fiercer blast
Of the destroying angel's breath?
Which binds its victim the more fast?
Which kills him with the deadlier death?
Will ye the felon fox restrain,
And yet take off the tiger's chain?


The living to the rotting dead
The God-contemning Tuscan tied,
Till, by the way, or on his bed,
The poor corpse-carrier drooped and died,--
Lashed hand to hand, and face to face,
In fatal and in loathed embrace.


Less cutting, think ye, is the thong
That to a breathing corpse, for life,
Lashes, in torture loathed and long,
The drunkard's child,--the drunkard's wife?
To clasp that clay,--to breathe that breath,--
And no escape! O, that is death!


Are ye not fathers? When your sons
Look to you for their daily bread,
Dare ye, in mockery, load with stones
The table that for them ye spread?
How can ye hope your sons will live,
If ye, for fish, a serpent give?


O, Holy God! let light divine
Break forth more broadly from above,
Till we conform our laws to thine,
The perfect law of truth and love;
For truth and love alone can save
Thy children from a hopeless grave.