I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. # 
 
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 #|l'«F ■■-|wi9w|o .J 
 
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 ! UNITED STATES OP AMERICA, f 
 
Bab-room Scene. 
 
, THE 
 
 DRUNKAED'S CHILD; 
 
 OR, ♦ 
 
 THE TKIUMPHS OF FAITH. 
 
 BY 
 
 REV. SIDNEY WeR, 
 
 AUTHOR OP *' SONGS AND BALLADS," " KTJTH," ETC. 
 
 " One of these little onea that believe in mQ."—Mark ix. 42- 
 
 C^ NEW YORK : 
 SHELOON AND COMPANY. 
 
 BOSTON : GOULD AND LINCOLN. 
 
 r 1865. 
 

 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 18C5, by 
 
 SHELDON AND COMPANY, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
 Southern District of New York. 
 
 "z oyi 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 ♦- 
 
 • 
 
 PART I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE SCENE OF BLOOD, 11 
 
 PART n. 
 
 THE SCENE OF FIEE, 43 
 
 PART m. 
 
 FROM PRISON TO PARADISE, 67 
 
PART I. 
 
 Clj^ Sam oi §Iij0tr, 
 
..*> 
 
Hovel in the Lane 
 
THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 TPIE SCENE OF BLOOD. 
 
 And Faith can see a new world, and the eyes 
 Of saints look pity on her.-' 
 
 HOVEL in a dirty lane, — 
 
 A squalid, wretched place to see.; 
 5^ Old rags were stuffed in every pane, 
 
 c) 
 
 And through the cracks winds whistled free. 
 
 It was the home — if that sweet name 
 Be not profaned by spot so drear — 
 
 Of those whose only crime or blame 
 Was loving him who crushed them here. 
 
12 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 Its broken door but half conceals 
 The poverty and woe within ; 
 
 And to the pitying eye reveals 
 Three martjrs of another's sin. 
 
 A mother, with her wan, wet cheeks, 
 A baby to her bosom pressed, — 
 
 A skeleton that vainly seeks 
 
 To glean its life from sterile breast. 
 
 Another form is crouching there, — 
 A little girl, with mild blue eyes ; 
 
 Like sunbeams seemed her golden hair, 
 And she an angel from the skies. 
 
 And yet she was an earth-born child ; 
 
 But one of those so rarely given : 
 ^0 wonder we are oft beguiled. 
 
 And deem them visitants from heaven. 
 
THE SCE.\E OP ELOOD. 13 
 
 A drunkard's cliild was Lily born ; 
 
 A beggar's home was where she dwelt ; 
 And all the pangs of want and scorn ^ 
 
 The heart can feel, her own had felt. 
 
 Ere consciousness had fixed her gaze 
 On aught of earth that's bright and fair 
 
 The darkest scenes that guilt portrays 
 Had left their horrid tracings there. 
 
 Yet though inured to crimes so deep, 
 She earlj learned in truth to praj; 
 
 And all untaught God's word to keep, 
 Her infant heart had found the way. 
 
 She questions asked so strangely wise, 
 By God's own Spirit taught to know; 
 
 And held communion with the skies 
 In that sad home of vice and woe. 
 
14 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 A Christian lady marked the child, 
 And led her to the house of God ; 
 
 And there she learned how souls defiled 
 Might all be cleansed through Jesus' blood 
 
 That he the " little ones " would love, 
 Whose simple faith on him was staid ; 
 
 Would make of such his friends above, 
 And hear their feeblest cries for aid. 
 
 And from that hour another life 
 
 O'er all her being held its sway ; 
 The throne of grace endured a strife : 
 • " My parents save from sin's dark way." 
 
 Alas ! what hope for them to plead. 
 So hardened now in guilt and shame ? 
 
 But did she not this promise read ? — 
 "^5^ what thou wilt in Jesus' name" 
 
THE SCENE OF BLOOD. 15 
 
 And there, within that wretched home, 
 Where none a ray of hope could see, 
 
 She waited long for light to come 
 And set her wrestling spirit free. 
 
 Full many a time a father's curse 
 Or heavy hand 'twas hers to feel ; 
 
 And oft it seemed that he grew worse 
 As stronger grew her heart's appeal. 
 
 And mourning more than father's sin 
 Her mother's broken heart and sighs, 
 
 In vain she strove her heart to win 
 To Him who reigns above the skies. 
 
 The bitterest cup of life she drank 
 So deep, no hope of joy could cheer : 
 
 She once was blest with wealth and rank ; 
 And now — a drunkard's beggar here ! 
 
16 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 A noble form was his iu youtli ; 
 
 More manly heart was never found ; 
 And, with its priceless wealth of truth, 
 
 Her fate to his for life was bound. 
 
 A few short years of light and love. 
 As bright as morning, promise gave ; 
 
 And fewer still in which she strove 
 To breast the darkly swelling wave ; 
 
 Then, all despairing, yields to fate. 
 Nor hopes for joy or truth again ; 
 
 Her lot in sorrow here to wait 
 
 Till death should come to end her pain. 
 
 A broken heart can boast one friend, 
 "Who ever comes with soothing breath ; 
 
 So healing, that all sorrows end 
 When we have found a friend in death ! 
 
THE SCENE OF BLOOD. 17 
 
 'T was seldom now that father sought 
 The home he had so wretched made ; 
 
 And long the day since he had brought 
 A single comfort to their aid. 
 
 When turned from doors where he had spent 
 The means his wife and children craved, 
 
 He 'd seek their home his wrath to vent, 
 And in his drunken fury raved. 
 
 If friendly hand or their poor thrift 
 Had brought a comfort to their door, 
 
 Which he for rum could pawn or shift. 
 To dram-shops straight the prize he bore. 
 
 But if unfit to serve his will, 
 
 With ruthless hand he would destroy, 
 
 As, demon-like, delighting still 
 To rob their hearts of every joy. 
 
18 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 A day or two of wreck and wrath, 
 Till he the utmost ill had done ; 
 
 Then back to tread his guilty path, 
 And swifter on to ruin run. 
 
 No wonder, crushed and in despair. 
 That wife thus yields to hopeless grie^. 
 
 And that to die v/as all her care, — 
 Where else could she e'er find relief? 
 
 But Lily's faith had found a rock : 
 " Ask in my name, it shall he given 1 " 
 
 And naught that trust could swerve or shock ; 
 'T was sure and steadfast, fixed in heaven. 
 
 Three shivering forms, all worn with care : 
 The wind was howling fierce and keen ; 
 
 The hearth was cold, no fire was there ; 
 'T was very long since there had been. 
 
THE SCENE OF BLOOD. 19 
 
 In close embrace the mother folds 
 
 Her sickly babe and Lily too, 
 And vainly tries from 'piercing cold 
 
 To warm their shivering bodies through. 
 
 The room is dingy, bleak, and bare, — 
 A broken dish or two stands round ; 
 
 A fcAV old rags, a broken chair, — 
 And marks of wretchedness abound. 
 
 Of food, alas ! they had no store. 
 
 And often not a crumb to eat 
 But what was begged from door to door, 
 
 As Lily went from street to street. 
 
 And now the snow is on the ground, 
 And Lily's feet are bruised and bare', 
 
 Yet she must go her dismal round, 
 Or hunger be their only fare. 
 
20 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 The mother's heart gives way to grief; 
 
 " Oh, we must perish, child ! " she said ; 
 " You cannot go to seek relief, 
 
 And we must die for want of bread. 
 
 " Dear little Eddy soon must die, 
 Since nourishment he gets no more ; 
 
 For grief has left the fountain dry — 
 Oh, would our sorrows all were o'er ! 
 
 " And oh, I would not drop one tear 
 If I were sure you 'd die with me ; 
 
 The thought that I must leave you here 
 Is my last pang of agony." 
 
 While thus the mother, in despair, 
 Laments their hard and bitter fate, 
 
 Sweet Lily's lips are moved in prayer, — 
 She wrestles hard at Mercy's gate. 
 
THE SCENE OF ELOOD. 21 
 
 And then, with calmness in her tone, 
 Assured the gracious boon was given, 
 
 Says, " Mother dear, cease, cease to mourn ; 
 Have we not still a Friend in heaven ? 
 
 " I know we have ; for when, last night, 
 You groaned so sadly in your sleep, 
 
 I crept away, and rose so light. 
 
 To kneel beside you there and weep. 
 
 "And while I prayed, and wept full sore, 
 It seemed as though a • shining one ' 
 
 Came from the skies, and hovered o'er 
 Wliere I was kneeUng sad and lone. 
 
 " And, with a smile, it sweetly said : 
 ^ Dry up thy tears, poor child of woe, 
 
 For I am sent a light to shed 
 Upon the path you tread below.' 
 
THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 « 
 " And then I saw the path it went ; 
 
 'T was beautiful and bright to tread ; 
 
 Such glorious stars above were blent, 
 
 And fadeless flowers around were spread. 
 
 " And clustering there were white-robed throngs, 
 Bright seraphs, dazzling all the waj, 
 
 Who sung, with harps, the sweetest songs, 
 As up the heavenly path thej stray ; 
 
 " So beautiful, I wished that I 
 
 Might walk with them in robes of #hite : 
 Just then a * shining one ' passed by ; 
 
 The brightest one of all to sight. 
 
 " mother dear, it looked like you ! 
 
 Not pale and wan, as now you are ; 
 But happy, and as blooming too, 
 
 As I remember once you were. 
 
THE SCENE OF BLOOD. 23 
 
 " And by your side another stood ; 
 
 His hand a palm of victory waved, 
 And loud he sang : ' The Lord is good ; 
 
 The chief of sinners has been saved!' 
 
 " Just then I woke as from a sleep, 
 
 Though I had only knelt to pray ; 
 And, mother, I no more can weep 
 
 Since that bright vision passed away. 
 
 « I 'm sure that God has heard my prayer, 
 And happy days we yet shall see ; 
 
 So grieve no more, and ne'er despair 
 While one like Jesus cares for thee. 
 
 " Now let me dry those burning tears, 
 And trust in God, for he is good ; 
 
 And let us pray to him who hears : 
 ' Give us this day our daily food.' " 
 
24 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 ' And there they kneel, in want and woe, 
 And lift their souls in prayer to God, 
 Till grace descends, with heavenly glow, 
 And sanctifies affliction's rod. 
 
 The mother sweetly learns, at last, 
 The truth of every promise given ; 
 
 And all her burdened soul can cast 
 On Him who heals the spirit riven. 
 
 The " child of faith " has half her boon, — 
 A mother saved by grace and love, 
 
 Who now will pray with her, that soon 
 A father, too, that grace may prove. 
 
 While this new joy absorbs each heart. 
 The gnawing pangs of hunger ceased ; 
 
 But He who sends the raven's part 
 Prepared for them a dainty feast. 
 
THE SCENE OF BLOOD. 25 
 
 An eye had marked poor Lily's form, 
 On her sad round, from door to door, 
 
 Which now looked out upon the storm, 
 In pity for the suffering poor. 
 
 *' That child, so thinly clad and weak, 
 This driving storm cannot endure ; 
 
 And I am called her home to seek : 
 To-day she suffers, I am sure." 
 
 'T was thus a Christian lady's heart 
 
 Was moved to do a kindly deed ; 
 By acts of love to ease the smart 
 
 That want and sorrow ever breed. 
 
 With cheerful step and ample store. 
 
 She seeks the hovel in the lane, 
 And stands beside the shattered door, 
 
 She marks the rag-stuffed window-pane. 
 
26 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 Keen self-rebuke was felt, that she 
 The kindly act had long delayed ; 
 
 For here indeed was poverty 
 
 That should not wait for tardy aid. 
 
 But while a moment waiting there, 
 A gentle voice is heard to plead ; 
 
 'T is Lily, burdened with the prayer 
 
 That God would mark their time of need. 
 
 How fervently her lips implore ! 
 
 How grateful, too, for favors given ! 
 It seemed no more a hovel door, 
 
 But near the pearly gates of heaven. 
 
 She blessed her Maker for the love 
 Which gave a mother in the Lord ; 
 
 And still his faithfulness would prove, 
 Till father, too, was her reward. 
 
TIIE SCENE OF BLOOD. ^ 27 
 
 And then she heard that youthful tongue 
 Instruct a mother, young in grace, 
 
 In wonder that a child so young 
 
 Should know so well its paths to trace. 
 
 And thus in rapture she could wait, 
 For surely God his word had sealed ; 
 
 The mysteries hid from wise and great, 
 This babe in Christ had there revealed. 
 
 But knocking gently at the door, 
 
 Anon 't is oped by Lily's hand ; 
 A group to make the spirit sore 
 
 She there beheld before her stand. 
 
 The mother's form, but thinly clad, 
 "Was shrunk with fasting many a day ; 
 
 Upon her hollow cheek and sad 
 Each trace of joy had passed away. 
 
28 THE DRUNKAED'S CHILD. 
 
 With feeble voice, a baby-cry 
 
 Fell on her ear with painful thrill, 
 
 As it would oft and vainly try 
 
 From dried up fount its wants to fill. 
 
 And Lily too, though strangely nerved 
 By strength that calmed the soul within. 
 
 Could not conceal what plainly served 
 To show how deep her grief had been. 
 
 Ah, many a day had gone since last 
 A friendly step had passed that door, 
 
 Which only seemed to woo the blast, 
 Or him who blight and curses bore. 
 
 With words of sympathetic glow. 
 
 She tells how mercy brought her there, 
 
 Lest, in the driving sleet and snow, 
 They should be left to want and care. 
 
TIIE SCEXE OF BLOOD. 29 
 
 And now she knew 't was God who led 
 Her heart to seek their drear abode ; 
 
 And freely owned her spirit bled, 
 She had not sooner found the road. 
 
 Erelong the hearth is in a glow, 
 
 Their simple board is amply spread ; 
 
 While tears of gratitude o'erflow, 
 For God has sent their daily bread. 
 
 And thus again did Lily prove 
 
 The gracious promise richly true ; 
 And stronger was her heart's deep love ; 
 
 Her faith in prayer revived anew. 
 
 But sorer griefs await them both ; — 
 
 Another step is heard without ; 
 And staggering in, with many an oath. 
 
 The father comes from drunken rouj;. 
 
30 THE DRUNKAIID-S CHILD. 
 
 'T is many days since lie has been 
 "Within the home he makes so drear : 
 
 Nor cares he now for those his sin 
 Has robbed of all in life most dear. 
 
 Discarded from his haunts of sin, 
 He seeks a shelter for the night ; 
 
 But not to sleep ; his drunken din 
 All peace and slumber puts to flight. 
 
 The one he vowed to love through life 
 He rudely spurns with curse and scorn, 
 
 Till she, the broken-hearted wife, 
 Regrets the day that she was born. 
 
 And she who first that father's name 
 With lisping accents tried to speak. 
 
 Oft felt his anger's fiercest flame 
 In stunning blows upon the cheek. 
 
THE SCENE OF BLOOD. 31 
 
 And now, amid that hour of joy, 
 
 The first their hearts for months had known, 
 He comes a demon to destroy, 
 
 And to their souls bring back the groan. 
 
 But not as once the shrinking wife 
 
 Keceives the ill his hand can do ; 
 For, strengthened bj an inner life, 
 
 With patience she can suffer too. 
 
 * 
 
 And fervently her pleading heart 
 
 Besought for grace and strength that night 
 
 To bear her wrongs, nor more depart 
 From ways of truth and doing right. 
 
 And well she might, for words of hate 
 
 And direst curses wound the ear. 
 More dreadful than had been her fate 
 
 Since first 't was hers such words to hear. 
 
32 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 The comforts that a kindly hand 
 
 Bestowed to cheer their hour of woe, 
 
 The fires of wrath more fiercely fanned, 
 Till words are followed by a blow. 
 
 And there the bleeding victim lies ; 
 
 The baby dappled with her blood, 
 And mingling its faint infant cries 
 
 With gurgling of the crimson flood. 
 
 And Lily, too, must feel the storm, 
 Till she is forced for life to fly ; 
 
 For one such blow, and her frail form 
 Would know no more of agony. 
 
 A neighbor, haply passing by, 
 In pity saw the frightened child. 
 
 As, crouching in a corner nigh. 
 
 The winds swept round her, fierce and wild. 
 
THE SCENE OF BLOOD. 33 
 
 " Oh sir, my mother sure is dead, 
 
 And little baby Eddy too ; . 
 I saw the blood run down her head, — • 
 
 Oh come and save her, quickly, do ! " 
 
 Her tale of woe would melt a stone, 
 
 And his a heart to quickly move ; 
 A Saviour's suffering little one 
 
 Was sent to claim an act of love. 
 
 Anon they reach the fearful spot ; 
 
 A ghastly sight is there revealed : 
 The floor and hearth one purple clot, 
 
 O'er which a drunken maniac reeled. 
 
 And lying still where first she fell, 
 The bleeding victim groans in pain ; 
 
 While he, with many a demon yell, 
 Repeats the blow, agam, again ! 
 
34 THE DRUinJARD'S ' CHILD. 
 
 Instinctively, in closer folds 
 
 Her baby to her heart is pressed, 
 
 That every blow his fury doles 
 May fall alone on her poor breast. 
 
 The loss of blood and heavy blows 
 Bring on a sweet surcease at last ; 
 
 Unconsciousness of all the woes 
 
 Her soul in that dark hour has passed. 
 
 rum, thy fearful ruin 's wrought, — 
 Dehrium now has reason's throne ; 
 
 Another's life he lately sought, 
 And now he tries to spill his own. 
 
 A ghastly wound across his throat 
 His hand inflicts, ere he is stayed ; 
 
 Then, like a shrieking fiend, he gloats 
 O'er all the ruin he has made. 
 
THE SCENE OF BLOOD. 85 
 
 Alas ! can Lily now believe 
 
 Her angel dream will yet be true ? 
 
 Can such a wretched being live, 
 And sing as white-robed angels do ? 
 
 Oh, what a scene her faith to try ! 
 
 To break her heart with present woe : 
 In their own blood her parents he ; 
 
 And his the hand that made it flow ! 
 
 She stood as one transfixed with grief; 
 
 A horrid scene around her laid ; 
 "While others sought to give relief 
 
 To those so near death's gloomy shade. 
 
 By Christian hands the mother's wounds 
 Ai'e cleansed from gore, and she is borne 
 
 "Where tenderness her couch surrounds, 
 "With balm for wounds and bosom torn. 
 
36 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 For days and weeks the fickle tide 
 Of life kept ebbing to and fro ; 
 
 And oft thej- gathered by her side 
 
 To mark her flight from earth and woe. 
 
 But still she lived, as though a spell 
 Had bound her fast to life with chains ; 
 
 And soon again a healthy swell 
 
 "Went throbbing through her purple veins. 
 
 And he, the doubly guilty one, 
 
 Had failed his own dear life to spill ; 
 
 For haply, ere the deed was done. 
 
 Strong arms had curbed his wicked will. 
 
 Although restrained the fearful deed, 
 He strove with all his might and main 
 
 To cause a deeper wound to bleed. 
 As horrid murder haunts his brain. 
 
THE SCENE OF BLOOD. 37 
 
 An awful sight it was to see 
 
 The throes of pain, so long and deep, 
 
 Till swelling veins of agony 
 Around his livid temples sweep. 
 
 Wliat horrid shrieks fall on the ear, 
 And cursings dire one dare not tell. 
 
 As troops of fiends are gathered near, 
 To drag him down to flames of hell. 
 
 And now he prays, and now blasphemes ; 
 
 For mercy cries, then seeks his life : 
 A raging fire around him gleams. 
 
 And he with devils joins in strife. 
 
 Oh, what a sight ! from every pore 
 
 He sweats in agony and blood. 
 Behold ! and curse forevermore 
 
 That race — the vile rum-sellino: brood ! 
 
PART II. 
 
 ®be Sam oi Mxl 
 
Prison Scene. 
 
PAET II. . 
 
 THE SCENE OF FIRE. 
 
 " Such, O Intemperance, is thy baleful curse! 
 Crushing with heavy hand the dearest hopes, 
 And clouding with deep gloom life's brightest days." 
 
 HEN from the stupor Lily felt, 
 
 She woke to consciousness and woe, 
 ^S^f She wept as though her heart would melt : 
 Ah, whither could she turn or go ? 
 
 A little child, so weak and lone ; 
 
 How could she bear her load of care ? 
 With tremulous and earnest tone, 
 
 She sought for help from God in prayer 
 
44 • THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 She told him all her sad, sad tale, 
 Yet murmured not beneath the rod ; 
 
 She knew his truth would never fail ; 
 He was a promise-keeping God. 
 
 She asked the lives of those she loved ; 
 
 And though so dark her father's sin, 
 His wondrous grace had often proved 
 
 That vile as he might enter in. 
 
 " Oh give each day our daily bread ; 
 
 Three helpless ones on Thee depend : 
 Through all the path we darkly tread, 
 
 • Oh lead us safely to the end." 
 
 She rose, and, with unshaken trust, 
 Looked to the Lord for every good ; 
 
 As happy with her scanty crust 
 As those who feast on dainty food. 
 
THE SCENE OF FIRE. 45 
 
 Yet long and sorely was she tried 
 
 With want and watching, day by day ; 
 
 Though kindly hearts enough supplied 
 To keep the gnawing wolf away. 
 
 And oft she sung in hours of pain, ^ 
 
 As feeling all the truth she sung, 
 This sweet and soul-exalting strain, 
 
 So often on the Christian's tongue : 
 
 " From every stormy wind that blows, 
 From every swelling tide of woes, 
 There is a calm, a sure retreat ; 
 'T is found beneath the mercy-seat. 
 
 " There is a place where Jesus sheds 
 The oil of gladness on our heads ; 
 A place of all on earth most sweet, — 
 It is the blood-bought mercy-seat. 
 
46 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 " There is a scene where spu-its blend, 
 "Where friend holds fellowship with friend ; 
 Though sundered far, by faith we meet 
 Around one common mercy-seat. 
 
 " There, there, on eagles' wings we soar, 
 And sin and sense molest no more ; 
 And heaven comes down our souls to greet, 
 And glory crowns the mercy-seat." 
 
 Erelong a mother's heart can share 
 
 The burdens that weak child hath borne ; 
 
 Though healing wounds can ne'er repair 
 The heart by anguish crushed and torn. 
 
 Yet chastenings such as she had known, 
 The fruits of love had ripened fast, 
 
 And brought her near the gracious throne, 
 A refuge for her soul at last. 
 
THE SCENE OF FIRE. 47 
 
 Now anxiously they watched the bed 
 "Where lingers still, midst life and death, 
 
 The erring one, and almost dread 
 The fleeting echo of his breath. 
 
 For often, in delirious sleep. 
 
 That awful night comes back again ; 
 
 And piteously he '11 beg and weep 
 
 For one sweet hour's release from pain. 
 
 And then far back the mind will stray. 
 To that bright hour when he was young. 
 
 And love-light gladdened all the way. 
 And holy vows were on the tongue. 
 
 But only for a moment dwells 
 
 Where conscience feels so keen a sting, 
 Ere rushing back, lilie angry swells. 
 
 To what he is — a guilty thing. 
 
48 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 At times he wanders 'mid the lost, 
 Or knocks in vain at Mercy's door ; 
 
 Calls o'er the names once loved the most. 
 And begs for pardon o'er and o'er. 
 
 "With healing wounds again returns 
 The light of reason to the soul ; 
 
 But with a smouldering fire it bums, 
 With here and there an angry coal. 
 
 Ob, how those sufferers try to smooth 
 The moody spirit's rankling care I 
 
 But vainly ; every aim to soothe 
 Awakes a darker passion there. 
 
 For long, long days but stifled groans 
 Or angry words reveal his mood ; 
 
 Until it seemed his mildest tones 
 
 Were meant to freeze their very blood. 
 
THE SCENE OP FIRE. 49 
 
 And once when Lily bowed to pray 
 
 Beside his bed, as locked in sleep, 
 He woke in wrath, and thrust away 
 
 The trembling child with one fell sweep. 
 
 And then he cursed her deep and loud. 
 And bid her give such nonsense o'er, — 
 
 'T was learned amid a canting crowd, — 
 Or he would beat her black and sore. 
 
 Without a murmur or complaint, 
 
 She meekly bore the cruel blow ; 
 And when by his own efforts faint, 
 
 With loving hands she bathes his brow. 
 
 Through many an anxious day and night 
 Her patience failed not, nor her love. 
 
 Though often called to feel his might, 
 And brutish nature well to prove. 
 4 
 
60 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 If filial love could touch his heart, 
 Or cheerfulness and constant care, 
 
 She would not fail to act her part. 
 And rest her soul confiding there. 
 
 And how they trembled, hoped, and prayed 
 Through all those dreary hours of pain. 
 
 That since so near to death he 'd strayed, 
 'T would win him back to truth again. 
 
 And when the eventful day had come, 
 That must decide for good or ill, 
 
 Two hearts in that distressed home 
 
 With hope and fear were trembling still. 
 
 The feet that lately, tottering, pressed 
 Upon the crumbling verge of life, 
 
 Again walked forth, to stand the test 
 If stronger now to breast the strife. 
 
THE SCENE OF FIRE. 51 
 
 What tongues to plead for virtue now, 
 In purple scars and haggard eyes ; 
 
 So deeply seared that burning brow, — 
 Such monitors he '11 not despise. 
 
 Alas, how weak the heart of man ! 
 
 E'en ruin stands to warn in vain ; 
 The burning path where once he ran. 
 
 He treads it, scorching, o'er again. 
 
 And there they waited, watched, and prayed, 
 Grew strong in hope, then wept with fear. 
 
 Till day's last beam began to fade. 
 And their last hope to disappear. 
 
 He comes, he comes ! but mark his tread ! 
 
 It tells, alas, the bitter tale ; 
 And with that sight all hope has fled ; 
 
 They stand despairing, deathly pale. 
 
52 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 Poor Lily marked his staggering stride, 
 
 Andj with an agonizing cry, 
 As clinging to her mother's side, 
 
 She said : " Oh mother, can't we die ! " 
 
 " God help thee, child ! death were a boon. 
 To save from horrors we must know ! 
 
 Oh, would that God would grant us soon 
 This only refuge from our woe." 
 
 And then they prayed for grace to bear 
 Whate'er the will of Heaven should send ; 
 
 And wondrously they seemed to share 
 The strength of Him, their only friend. 
 
 The fallen one comes staggering in. 
 Confirming all their horrid fear. 
 
 And fiercer than he e'er had been 
 Through all his dark and wild career. 
 
THE SCENE OF FIRE. 53 
 
 The dreadful scenes portrayed in blood, 
 
 He, fiendishly, will act them o'er ; 
 But ere rebursts the crimson flood, 
 
 They fly in terror from the door. 
 
 Sweet Eddy, snatched from slumbers light, 
 
 To mother's heart is folded nigh. 
 Alas ! poor exiles of the night. 
 
 Ah, whither can you turn or fly ? 
 
 "Within a dirty shed they creep. 
 As wretched as they well could be ; 
 
 And on each other's bosoms weep, 
 And sob and sigh in agony. 
 
 But though cast down, 't was not despair ; 
 
 For 'mid their sobs sweet Lily said : 
 " Dear mother, Christ is everywhere, 
 
 To shelter our defenceless head. 
 
64 THE DRUNKAED'S CHILD. 
 
 " He wandered in the midnight air ; . 
 
 In agony he wept and prayed ; 
 And bids us cast on him our care, 
 
 And all our sorrows shall be stayed. 
 
 " How many stripes and wounds he bore ! 
 
 Upon the cross he groaned and bled ; 
 And for our sakes became so poor 
 
 He had not where to lay his head. 
 
 " And he is touched with all our woe, 
 Since he has suffered pangs the same ; 
 
 Hence all our weakness he must know, 
 And will not crush our feeble frame." 
 
 While thus, in darkness and alone, 
 
 They watched the home they lately fled, 
 
 A sudden glare around them shone, 
 
 And bursting flames leap, fierce and red. 
 
THE SCENE OF riBE. 65 
 
 A single glance the truth reveals, — 
 
 'Tis their own home that fiercely burns ! 
 
 And soon the heart almost congeals, 
 
 For flames and shrieks they hear by turns ! 
 
 The cry of fire and ring of bells 
 
 Has called the ready fireman's hand ; 
 
 But ere the raging flame he quells 
 
 There's nothing left but smoking brand. 
 
 But where is he who late was left 
 
 Alone within that charred abode ? 
 Of heart and sense and all bereft. 
 
 Save power to tread in ruin's road. 
 
 Alas for him, had others shown 
 
 As little care as he for them : 
 The feet that had so lately flown, 
 
 "Were first the fiery tide to stem. 
 
56 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 And there he stood, 'mid flame and smoke, 
 With writhing limbs and blazing brand ; 
 
 Not yet from wild delirium woke, 
 To know the awful death at hand. 
 
 With his own hand the blistered skin 
 He rends away from quivering limbs ; 
 
 And gloats, with many a horrid grin. 
 As through the surging flame he swims. 
 
 A sight it was to pain the eyes 
 
 That ne'er had known the touch of tear ; 
 
 And then such piteous groans and cries 
 One ne'er again would wish to hear. 
 
 'Midst oaths and shrieks, they drag him thence, 
 Though oft he struggled back to fly, 
 
 Beseeching they 'd not bear him hence. 
 For he on beds of fire must lie. 
 
TIIE SCENE OF FIRE. 67 
 
 But why the dreadful scene delay, 
 
 Or all its fearful horrors tell ? 
 A darker scene would none portray 
 
 Who painted all the woes of hell ! 
 
 It was an hour for generous deeds ; 
 
 No common woe was crushing there : 
 From deepest wounds the bosom bleeds, — 
 
 "Who would not bind them up with care ? 
 
 The homeless martyrs were not left 
 As friendless as they were forlorn ; 
 
 Of love and home and hope bereft. 
 To breast alone life's bitter scorn. 
 
 But friendly doors were open thrown, 
 And warmest welcomes freely given, 
 
 With sympathy in every tone 
 
 For those so deeply, darkly riven. 
 
58 THE DRUNKAED^S CHILD. 
 
 But he, the wretched hardened one, 
 Who all this wreck and ruin made, 
 
 Instinctively all seemed to shun, 
 
 Save those two hearts he had betrayed. 
 
 Nor would they aught of kindness share 
 Until his scorched limbs were dressed, 
 
 And all that duty, all that care, 
 
 Could do was done to give him rest. 
 
 Oft Justice stayed the avenging hand 
 When he profaned her sacred fane ; 
 
 But now proclaims the stern command. 
 And prison walls his steps restrain. 
 
 There, in a dungeon dark and lone. 
 He waits returning reason's power, 
 
 Which only wakes to writhe and groan 
 Through many a sad and bitter hour. 
 
TILE SCEXE OF FIRE. 59 
 
 He cannot now in Lethe's cup 
 
 Forget the past, so dark with crime ; 
 
 But drinks deep draughts of poison up, 
 And tastes himself the fatal rime. 
 
 The day of trial sees him stand 
 
 Condemned and scorned, a guilty thing ; 
 
 Not one in all that frowning band 
 By word or deed would comfort bring. 
 
 But daily to his lonely cell 
 
 A timid child was seen to go, 
 Until her step he learned to tell 
 
 From others going to and fro. 
 
 And often, too, another came, 
 
 So meek, and sadly altered now 
 From what she was when first his name 
 
 "Was called on her with solemn vow. 
 
60 THE DRUNKAED'S dHLD. 
 
 A bridal wreath o'er fairer face 
 
 Than hers was then, ne'er maiden wore ; 
 
 So haggard now with sorrow's trace, 
 
 And deep-mouthed scars, once traced in gore. 
 
 With softest hand and soothing word 
 They cheer his heart and prison gloom : 
 
 Not one complaint of wrong is heard ; 
 While others clamor for his doom. 
 
 Then thick and fast the memories came, 
 Each barbed with sharp and poison sting, 
 
 Till, shuddering with a sense of shame, 
 He groans, " I am a guilty thing ! " 
 
 He struggled hard and wrestled long, 
 And felt how dark his crimes had been ; 
 
 But all too proud to own the wrong. 
 He harder, darker grew within. 
 
THE SCENE OF FIRE. 61 
 
 His conscience wakes the dreadful tliouglit ; 
 
 Portrays the guilt and ruin done : 
 So deep disgrace his life has wrought, 
 
 The devils sure his path would shun. 
 
 But keenest far of all to bear, 
 
 And calling forth the deepest groan, 
 
 Were thoughts of wrong beyond repair, 
 Eepaid him now by love alone. 
 
 Then he grew mild, but seldom spoke, 
 
 And often dried the starting tear ; 
 But whether will or heart was broke 
 
 He still conceals from eye and ear. 
 
 And thus the weary months go by, 
 While Justice holds him still in thrall ; 
 
 And all his thoughts close hidden lie 
 That would reveal his rise or fall. 
 
62 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 The bitter past gave little hope 
 
 That sorrow's lessons he would lealm, 
 
 Or when the prison doors should ope 
 He would not to his sins return. 
 
PART III. 
 
 gxam ^ris0n I0 "^nxvu^m. 
 
Blessing asked. 
 
PART III. 
 
 FROM PRISON TO PARADISE. 
 
 " No 'longer weak, supine, and lost, 
 But with a heart of daring. 
 He stands amid his fellow-men 
 "With proud and noble bearing." 
 
 XjmEANWrilLE kind friends and Lily's care 
 CW I Had gathered up a little store, 
 ^J^f And thej, with joyful spirits, share 
 That dearest spot, a home, once more. 
 
 At last the eventful day drew nigh 
 That- would the prison open throw ; 
 
 And every hour anew they try 
 
 That he a cheerful home midit know. 
 
68 TEE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 The morning dawns, — it is the day 
 That gives them joy or black despair ; 
 
 And as its moments ebb away 
 
 They wonder why he comes not there. 
 
 And thus they wait, and wait in vain, 
 Till night has spread its curtain round ; 
 
 Their keen suspense has changed to pain. 
 As hopes are crushed with deeper wound. 
 
 Another morning dawns, and yet 
 No father comes to quell their fears ; 
 
 Oh, can he thus so soon forget 
 The past, with all its bitter tears ? 
 
 Now Lily to the prison hies. 
 To solve the painful mystery. 
 
 And learns, alas, with keen surprise, 
 That he was freed on yesterday. 
 
FROM PRISON TO PARADISE. 69 
 
 Then through the haunts where he had strayed 
 She seeks, and seeks, but nothing hears ; 
 
 Till worn and weary, sore dismayed, 
 
 She yields the search, o'ercome with fears. 
 
 And bitter was that wife's deep groan ; 
 
 For, though so long unfaithful proved, 
 To be deserted thus by one, 
 
 Though fallen now, yet still beloved ! 
 
 Through good and ill she yet pould cling, 
 
 Descend to lower dregs of life ; 
 Could bear his death, or anything 
 
 But this — a poor, deserted wife. ^ 
 
 "What fate was still reserved in store 
 Their father, God, alone could know ; 
 
 But he had led through trials sore. 
 And they would trust in coming woe. 
 
70 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 But where is lie they vainly sought ? 
 
 A homeless wanderer on the earth I 
 A hell within his bosom wrought, 
 
 Despair in agonies of birth ! 
 
 The prison doors were opened wide, 
 And forth he went, he knew not when ; 
 
 And as he fled he thought one cried, 
 " Beware, beware, the worst of men ! " 
 
 Jle wandered here, he wandered there. 
 And every step was marked with pain ; 
 
 Upon his brow, all seared with care, 
 He bore a deeper mark than Cain. 
 
 The gentle beings he had crushed 
 "Were ever present to his mind : 
 
 In waking hours, or slumber hushed, 
 His troubled soul no rest could find. 
 
FROM PRISON TO PARADISE. 71 
 
 The wrath, the dreadful wrath of God ! 
 
 How fierce it was he knew full well : 
 Had he not braved its darkest flood, 
 
 And fathomed all the depths of hell ? 
 
 And thus he vainly tried to fly 
 
 From tortures deep as e'er were known, 
 
 And wished and prayed that he might die, 
 And cease to die with every groan. 
 
 Erelong worn nature yields the strife — 
 He falls, exhausted, on the ground, 
 
 "Where, scarcely breathing breath of life, 
 By passing strangers he is found. 
 
 Though name and station are unknown, 
 They bear him to a house with care ; 
 
 And kindness he had never shown 
 Restored his life and reason there. 
 
72 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 For many weeks a single thread 
 
 Seemed all that held hitn from the grave ; 
 
 And oft they stood around his bed 
 To mark his life's last ebbing wave. 
 
 And oft he murmured in his dreams, 
 But not as once, of death and woe, 
 
 But things all bright with heavenly beams, 
 And angels moving to and fro. 
 
 And one he called by Lily's name, 
 His guardian spirit, sent in love ; 
 
 He seemed so happy when it came. 
 And talked to him of things above. 
 
 And hke a child he often wept. 
 
 As though his heart would burst with pain, 
 "When he an hour or more had slept 
 
 And Lily failed to come agam. 
 
FROM PRISON TO PARADISE. 73 
 
 He murmured too of " love " and " wife," 
 
 And bade her on his bosom rest, 
 And be again his joy and life, 
 
 As once she there was fondly pressed. 
 
 From fevered dreams he wakes at last ; 
 
 A holy light around him shone ; 
 His humbled soul he now can cast 
 
 Before the mercy-giving throne. 
 
 And there he pleads, with broken heart, 
 That God would save his trembling soul ; 
 
 The cleansing blood of Christ impart. 
 And make his guilty spirit whole. 
 
 Nor did he plead for grace in vain. 
 
 Though ^vile indeed his crimes had been j 
 
 He feels that he is born again, — 
 Tlie vilest sinner saved from sin / 
 
74 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 And now he longs the news to tell 
 To those whose joy will be as high 
 
 As angels' bliss can ever swell. 
 
 Who sing their raptures in the sky. 
 
 The quiet evening hour has spread 
 Its gentle hush on all around, 
 
 Where lately, with a busy tread, 
 
 The bustling feet of care were found. 
 
 And gathered round the social hearth 
 How many happy groups appear, 
 
 Whence pleasant sounds of joy and mirth, 
 Like music, soothe the listening ear. 
 
 And there is one, a humble place. 
 Where, on the features gathered there 
 
 A pensive sadness one may trace. 
 Erasing deeper marks of care. 
 
PROM PRISON TO PARADISE. 75 
 
 From darkest, deepest pangs of grief 
 
 Sweet Resignation comes to heal ; 
 And all their sorrows find relief 
 
 When at the throne of grace they kneel. 
 
 The hearth is warm with cheerful blaze, 
 
 A little table neatly spread, — 
 Faint glimmermgs of other days. 
 
 Ere yet the light of love had fled. 
 
 The mother's heart would now and then 
 Give forth a long and pensive sigh ; 
 
 But there was not that pang as when 
 She had no loving Saviour nigh. 
 
 And catching from the healthy flow 
 
 Of life to her maternal breast. 
 The baby grew, and oft would crow 
 
 As happy birdling in its nest. 
 
76 THE DRUXKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 And she, the early found of Heaven, 
 "Would often muse and mutter prayer, 
 
 As though to her the power was given 
 To see the white-robed comers there. 
 
 Sweet visions of the " shining one " 
 Returned to bless her oft at night ; 
 
 The crown it held was almost won, — 
 It wanted still one gem of light. 
 
 And near that angel always stood 
 
 A trembling form who mercy craved ; 
 
 While voices murmured, " God is good ; 
 The chief of sinners shall he saved/" 
 
 And ever as the vision fled 
 
 That suppliant form arose ; and lo. 
 
 Her father stood, with star-crowned head. 
 In garments white as driven snow ! 
 
FROM PRISON TO PARADISE. 77 
 
 And then she saw the angel choir 
 
 Come thronging down the heavenly plain, 
 
 With starry crown and golden lyre, — 
 And he has joined the dazzling train ! 
 
 When seeking bread from day to day. 
 Her presence every heart beguiled ; 
 
 And as they sent her full away, 
 
 Full often said, " How strange a child 1 " 
 
 In Sunday-school her craving mind 
 
 Oft taxed her teacher's utmost skill ; ! 
 
 And in the driest comb she 'd find 
 Where honey-drops of truth distil. 
 
 The mother blest her as her child. 
 Yet child to her, she owned, in God ; 
 
 Her comforter when sorrows wild 
 Left her despairing 'neath the rod. 
 
78 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 And, like a child, on her she leans, 
 And finds support in all her care ; 
 
 And never had they lacked for means 
 Since they had lived by faith and prayer. 
 
 Full often had they sought to learn 
 The fate of him once near and dear ; 
 
 And wondered if he would return, 
 Yet shuddered lest he should appear. 
 
 And thus they sat that pleasant eve, 
 While Lily read God's holy word, 
 
 How all who would his truth believe 
 
 His grace each day with strength would gird. 
 
 The widow's God he e'er had proved ; 
 
 The orphan was his special care : 
 No one like him had ever loved, 
 
 And proved his mercy everyv/here. 
 
FROM PRISON TO PARADISE. 79 
 
 The door upon its hinges creaks ; 
 
 A footfall wakes the startled ear, 
 And mingles with their stifled shrieks, — 
 
 A pale, sad man is standing near ! 
 
 That face thej know, though ghastly white ; 
 
 But whether ghost or flesh and blood. 
 They quail, astounded at the sight, 
 
 While there with downcast eyes he stood. 
 
 And yet not long, for trembling limbs 
 Seemed all too weak his weight to bear ; 
 
 A darkness o'er the vision swims. 
 He drops, with faintness, on a chair. 
 
 They fear to stir, and dare not speak, 
 And wonder if they dream or wake ; 
 
 Their brows are damp with clammy reek ; 
 Their hearts with fearful tremblings quake. 
 
80 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 But one was there who knew no fear, 
 Yet knew a father's pensive face ; 
 
 And creeping, in his prattling, near, 
 Sweet Eddy's arms his knees embrace. 
 
 With gentle hands he lifts his boy, 
 And lays his cheek close to his own ; 
 
 With golden locks his fingers toy. 
 
 And o'er his cheeks soft tears are thrown. 
 
 And Lily weeps, she knows not why ; 
 
 She was not grieved, and yet she cried ; 
 Nor knew she how she came to lie 
 
 Upon liis breast, by Eddy's side. 
 
 Now shrinking back, now coming near. 
 The wife chokes down the tears that start ; 
 
 " My husband ! " breaks upon his ear. 
 And she is pressed close to his heart. 
 
FROM PRISON TO PARADISE. 81 
 
 And long in that embrace of love 
 
 Their arms are twined, in blissful strain ; 
 
 And when relaxed, ere thej could move, 
 They twine them o'er and o'er again. 
 
 It needed not the power of speech 
 To tell the wonders grace had done, 
 
 When, thrilling through the soul of each. 
 They felt that heaven was then begun. 
 
 And bowing low before the throne, 
 AYith gratitude their hearts run o'er 
 
 To God, who had such mercy shown. 
 As mercy ne'er was shown before. 
 
 They weep and talk, and talk and weep, 
 Now think they dream, and now awake ; 
 
 If dreaming, they would ever sleep, 
 Lest waking should the vision break. 
 
82 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 Triumphant Faith ! thy Bpell is wrought, 
 And angel tongues aloud proclaim : 
 
 " The lost is found, to Christ is brought. 
 And pardoned through his precious name." 
 
 In after years there might be seen. 
 
 Within a stately mansion's hall. 
 An aged man of saintly mien. 
 
 So loving and beloved by all. 
 
 But those who careful were to note, 
 Oft wondered how that purple scar 
 
 E'er came so deep across the throat, 
 His manly beauty thus to mar. 
 
 And by his side a matron form 
 
 Rocked to and fro, with placid brow ; 
 
 Yet there were marks w^hich showed the storm 
 Had fiercely beat on her e'er now. 
 
FROM PRISON TO PARADISE. 83 
 
 How beautiful their mutual care, 
 
 And fond as youthful lovers too ; 
 Some hidden link was binding there, 
 
 In sweetest bonds that earth e'er knew. 
 
 Oh, who will limit grace and love, 
 When they behold a scene like this, 
 
 Almost as bright as glows above, 
 And sweet as e'er was Eden's bliss ! 
 
 There, in a sweet and pensive face, 
 
 A holy light upon her brow. 
 The " drunkard's child " again we trace ; 
 
 But oh, how strangely altered now ! 
 
 To that blessed home the love and light. 
 
 As beautiful as she was good ; 
 More like an angel clothed in white. 
 
 And thinly veiled with flesh and blood. 
 
84 THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD. 
 
 All free from want and cankering care, 
 Her life in deeds of love was passed ; 
 
 But oftenest shed lier blessings where 
 The wrecks of rum are crushed and cast. 
 
 It seemed as though her spirit knew 
 Where scenes of guilt are acted o'er j 
 
 And there her feet instinctive drew, 
 And carried light to sorrow's door. 
 
 The tale is told — a scene from life ; 
 
 May you who read the lesson learn, 
 Lest, rushing on in heedless strife, 
 
 You pass the bourn whence none return. 
 
 A life of faith the crown shall win ; 
 
 Each fervent prayer meet sure reward ; 
 The blood of Christ cleanse every sin, — 
 
 Are pledges of our faithful Lord.