THE 
 WATER WAGON 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 -BY- 
 
 Rev. Walter B. Grimes 
 
 WITH 
 
 Ten New Temperance Rally Songs. 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^o- 
 
 A book with the "Fire of 
 The New Crusade." 
 
 Published for the Author. Fifteen cents per copy postpaid - 
 
 Tithers are still interested in "God's Tenth" published 
 
 by the same author. 10c each. 
 
 All orders sent to Rev. Walter B. Grimes, 518 W. Main St., 
 
 New^ Albany, Ind. 
 
 Copyright Applied For. 
 
T^^^'V 
 
 2> 
 
 lUBi^^RY of CONGRESS 
 Two Gooies Received j 
 
 Oopynsnt tntry | 
 
 '^■<''f-"' „?-■__ I 
 
THE WATER WAGON. 
 
 Christian voters and Crusaders, here's a message for 
 
 today. 
 How we've left the ruts and cobble, and are on the 
 
 Kiug's highway. 
 Slaves and bondsmen scarce believe it, that our land 
 
 will soon be free 
 From the gin-mill and its ruin, from Rum's curse 
 
 and tyranny. 
 For the better times are coming and the Brewers' 
 
 heave a sigh. 
 That their days of grace are over and the country's 
 
 going dry. 
 
 For the drought is surely coming, when the "still" 
 
 will be quite still. 
 And the smoke that rose above it, hangs no more on 
 
 vale or hill. 
 Where the owls shall hoot at night time and the mosa 
 
 shall overgrow. 
 The old ruins of the "still house" when the liquor 
 
 trade shall go, 
 And the mills whose gruesome portion was ground 
 
 out without a .sigh, 
 Will be closed for aye, forever, when the land has 
 
 voted dry. 
 
 For the ancient "water wagon" rumibles gaily on its 
 trip. 
 
 Through the land from Maine to Georgia, and its 
 driver needs no whip, 
 
 It began its glorious journey in the grand old state 
 of iMaine, 
 
 From the Kennebec to Bangor, 'long the coast and 
 southern plain, 
 
 And for fifty years and over since the days of sainted 
 Dow, 
 
 When the flag of iProhibition unfurled proudly, un- 
 furls now. 
 
 And the lords of legislation, both by trick and method 
 
 low. 
 Have assaulted this (Sahara, and have dealt it many 
 
 a blow, ; ."'' 
 
2 THE WATER WAGON. 
 
 But her men like Dow the hero, have in solid phalanx 
 
 stood. 
 For some fifty years and over, like the giants in 
 
 Maine's wood. 
 And her sons have always prospered midst gfeat 
 
 panics came no cry, 
 For her sons have saved their money, in a state that 
 loves the "dry." 
 
 But the "wagon" has had trouhle trundling through 
 
 the filth of greed. 
 And for years the wheels turned slowly when old 
 
 (Mammon checked its speed, 
 Rich men, statesmen, said 'twould .never meet the 
 
 economic need, 
 Then high license had its inning, satisfied the sons 
 
 of greed. 
 Now the "model license" story is the last despairing 
 
 cry. 
 Of the "Bummy," "Boozy" statesman when he hears 
 
 nine states are dry. 
 
 Next the "water wagon" trundled to the land where 
 sunflowers grow. 
 
 And the sons of arid Kansas, voted that saloons must 
 go. 
 
 Voted that this Western empire should not mar its 
 honor white. 
 
 By the sale of honor manhood for the rummies shek- 
 els hright. 
 
 Not on sale her noble birthright — 'neath God's sun 
 and shining sky, 
 
 Kansas stands a mighty empire, five and twenty years 
 been dry. 
 
 Fairest Kansas stood the testing and her fame reach- 
 ed every state, 
 
 Some maligned her and some loved her, nor does yet 
 her zeal abate, 
 
 Schools and churches, cities, homesteads, dot her val- 
 leys and her plain. 
 
 While the empty jail and poor house tell us that the 
 iRum fiend's slain. 
 
 Hushed the note of wailing sorrow, stilled the shriek 
 and miidnight cry 
 
 Of the brutal husband, fathery-iMEIN live in a state 
 that's BRY. :.* 
 
THE WATER WAGOiJ. 3 
 
 To the land of North Dakota, where her northern 
 
 •breezes blow 
 Great men said it, said it squarely, "the saloons must 
 
 go." 
 And across her .sweeping prairies, in this home land 
 
 of the free, 
 Live a people that will never, bow to Rum's black 
 
 tyranny. 
 And the North land meets the iSouth land, and the 
 
 yeoman raise the cry 
 For a stainless flag forever, in a land that is all 
 
 "DRY." 
 
 And the foam that made Milwaukee, famous with the 
 crowd that foams. 
 
 And her mayor's fizzing, fuming, in the cities where 
 he roams, 
 
 Does not foam in (North Dakota, and in nine aggress- 
 ive states, 
 
 For the issue has been settled, has no need for Rose 
 debates; 
 
 For the water wagon rumbles and wher'e'er it goes 
 the cry — 
 
 "The saloons must go" forever, for the whole land 
 must be dry. 
 
 From the pines of INorth iCarolina, to the hilLs of 
 
 Tennessee, 
 The old state has prohibition, and her people are 
 
 made free, 
 And this star of the old (Southland, sparkles bright 
 
 to Roanoke, 
 For her people have arisen, broken now King Bibler's 
 
 yoke, 
 And King Bibler's carping minions, raise a tumult 
 
 and a cry. 
 But tne business all is over, North Carolina has gone 
 
 DRY. 
 
 And the "Crackers" down in Georgia, gave the proof 
 of noble race, 
 
 When they lifted the white banner, in its high ex- 
 alted place, 
 
 And the grafters and the boodlers and the fixers and 
 their train, 
 
 Could not "fix" the Georgia yeoman, for the paltry 
 price of gain; 
 
4 THE WATER WAGON. 
 
 And the Colonel and the Major, great and small, 
 
 heave not a sigh. 
 For the noble work they finished, when they made 
 
 the state all dry. 
 
 'Sherman marched from proud Atlanta, fifty wide 
 
 down to the sea. 
 The "iState Widers" swept it wider, Wack men, white 
 
 men, were made free. 
 And the proud old iSouthern iC!olonel and his Tarother 
 
 in the blue, 
 Got upon the water wagon, rode together, rode on 
 
 through; 
 And "^OLd Glory" waves above them stainless — 'neath 
 
 a Southern sfey, 
 'North and South are now united, for to make thj 
 
 nation DRY. 
 
 Alabama heard the story wafted by the Georgia pines. 
 Banished from her state and people, beer and whisKy 
 
 and her wines. 
 And ner neighbor (Mississippi caught the spirits after 
 
 glow. 
 And with voice that sounded "forward" said that 
 
 the saloon must go. 
 Splendid Knighthood of the iSouthland, lift your 
 
 shields and lift them high. 
 Bear aloft your noble heroes who have made the 
 
 iSouth land dry. 
 
 CXklahoma, gem of statehood, land of peace serenely 
 
 blest. 
 Pearl of emerald in the sunset, 'mid the empires of 
 
 ■the West- 
 Wide her plains, her rich prairies, and the rivers 
 
 sparkling Ibright, 
 Not on sale to Rum's proud offers, o'er her rests no 
 
 shade of night. 
 Oklahoma spurned the offer, mute to all the Rum 
 
 fiend's cry. 
 To the honor of her manhood — entered clean, and 
 
 entered IDRY. 
 
 And the Water Wagon halted, halted long in Ten- 
 nessee, 
 
 Till the voters got together, made it dry as it could 
 be. 
 
THE WATER WAGON. 5 
 
 And they spurned the proffered dollars, not on sale 
 
 for gain or goldi, 
 And the freemen from the valleys, would not let 
 
 their rights he sold. 
 Fair old state of the great (Southland, from your 
 
 vales to mountains high. 
 You have crushed greed and corruption, when fair 
 
 Tennessee went 'DIRY. 
 
 There's the land of fairest women, where Kentucky 
 Mue grass grows, 
 
 Amd whose fame throughout the nations, for her 
 Bourhon overflows. 
 
 With her atills upon the still side and her mellow 
 mountain dew. 
 
 With "€oon iHollow" from the "iShiners, and her fa- 
 mous liquor crew. 
 
 With the ninety-seven counties where the water glass 
 rules high, 
 
 Surely our dear friend Kentucky, soon will join the 
 ranks of DRY. 
 
 EJven the High 'Priest of IBihler, Marsee Henry, of 
 renown, 
 
 Has his peaceful home and boarding, in a local op- 
 tion town, 
 
 Though the foaming Courier-Journal fumes and fizzes 
 diay 'hy day, 
 
 Still the water wagon rumbles happy on its Southern 
 way. 
 
 For the hand of God has written, read the edict from 
 the sky, 
 
 That in spite of Colonel Henry, old Kentucky's going 
 dry. 
 
 There's a state called Indiana, 'mid the stars of 
 Northern sky. 
 
 And her sons at last awakening have declared it must 
 go dry; 
 
 And the brewers and distillers and the folks at Terre 
 Haute, 
 
 Have been worried very greatly at the way the peo- 
 ple vote. 
 
 From the sand dunes of ithe northland, southward to 
 Ohio's flow. 
 
 The proud Hoosier keeps on voting, says that the 
 saloon must go. 
 
6 THE WATER WAGON. 
 
 For nine-tenths of Indiana, has unfurled the banner 
 
 white. 
 And her people are (State Widers, and are in the war 
 
 to tfig-ht. 
 And the B's of booze and boodle may appeal to spine- 
 
 less men. 
 But the most of these strange bipeds, live around tha 
 
 liquor den, 
 And the man who is a Hoosier, lives beyond the 
 
 boodler's cry, 
 Will not sell for booze or money — ^Indiana's going dry. 
 
 Forty million of our people live beneath the banner 
 
 white. 
 And Old iGrlory, waves albove them, stands for truth 
 
 and God and right; 
 'NeatiJL a stainless flag above them, in the golden age 
 
 and day, 
 Where the curse has fled forever, and -saloons are 
 
 swept away; 
 God be .praised for this redemption, and the nine stars 
 
 in the sky, 
 'That shine forth for prohibition, and are numbered 
 
 with the DRY. 
 
 INDIANA'S GOING DRY. 
 
 Send the word across the prairie, waft it over hill 
 land plain. 
 
 Let it echo through the valleys, fill the land with 
 the refrain; 
 
 Fro«i the san'd 'dunes of the Northland, southward 
 to the river's flow. 
 
 Until every Hoosier hears it, and their son's and 
 daughters know, 
 
 That a great drought now is coming, that will make 
 the Rumimies sigh, 
 
 And will rid the State of drunkards — ^Indiana's go- 
 ing dry. 
 
 Send the word along the Walbash — stop awhile at 
 
 Terre Haute, 
 Let the people down in Posey, hear about the latest 
 
 vote; 
 Lei* cihe.m hear it on the Maum'ee, all the way to old 
 
 Fort Wayne, 
 
THE WATER WAGON. 7 
 
 That we cannot stop the \^oting, till it's 'dry as dear 
 
 old Maine; 
 For the Hoosier's tired of Brewers, and that's just 
 
 the reason why. 
 Indiana's marching forward, to be numbered with 
 
 the dry. 
 
 For the 'dry wave is a coming — ihas a jaunty South- 
 ern air, 
 
 Floating up from sunny Dixie, is quite breezy every- 
 wihere; 
 
 From the pines of North Carolina, to Savannah by 
 the sea, 
 
 Wihere the proud old Southern 'CoJonel, cately sits 
 and sips his tea, 
 
 While the "water wagon" rum'bles and the Colonel 
 heaves a sigh 
 
 At the thought of all the Southland 'being counted 
 'with the dry. 
 
 And we've caught the Southern spirit, we have wait- 
 ed, waited long, 
 
 And insult to insult added, is the story of our 
 wrong; 
 
 Indiana has been sated with the Rum fiends poison- 
 ous breath, 
 
 With its dread miasma's vapour, strewn its harvest 
 field of 'death, 
 
 Hoosier wives and mothers listen. Lift aloud your 
 battle 'cry. 
 
 Vote it 'dry for aye. forever, '"Indiana's going dry." 
 
 lyonig have we been bowed in sorrow, long have 
 we endured the shame, 
 
 Tihat our dear old Indiana had a tarnished life and 
 name; 
 
 But her many thousand Rum'mies who the laws of 
 Go'd 'deified — 
 
 When the state has done her washing and the cloth- 
 ing all is 'drie'd, 
 
 Will be asking 'how it happened, and will heave a 
 mournful sigh. 
 
 For the Floosier's tired of w.hiskey, and the state 
 is going 'dry. 
 
 Each returning mail is laden with a story of success 
 How the people have arisen for the cause O'f right- 
 eousness; 
 
8 THE WATER WAGOJf. 
 
 How some distant Hoosier county, put the Gospel 
 standard high. 
 
 And the gin-mills ceased their grinding in a county 
 that went -dry; 
 
 And the brewers sigh for Richmond and their carp- 
 ing minions cry, 
 
 "What's the use of pushing forward, Indiana's going 
 ■dry." 
 
 And the Brewers promise s>quarely that they will 
 
 th^ laws obey, 
 If we'll stoip this agitation and will only let them 
 
 stay; 
 But their days of grace are over, and the writing 
 
 on the wall, 
 Tells (them that tlieur doom is written, and God's 
 
 wrath will! s-hortly fall; 
 For the thunder tones of judgment rend the earth 
 
 and vaulted sky, 
 With the stern, unchanging edict, Indiana's going 
 
 dry. 
 
 And the Brewers in their frenzy, put their boodle 
 
 in the fight. 
 Dare to flaunt in face of manhood, dare to curs 2 
 
 the truth and right; 
 Dare to buy in open market, bums and thieves and 
 
 'hireling floats — 
 Ringed and streaked, Jacob's 'Cattle, — so he has 1 
 
 right to vote; 
 The saloon has made the floater, and he heeds the 
 
 Brewers' cry, 
 But it all avails for nothing, Indiana's going dry. 
 
 And the boozer, goozes gaily, in the thickes-t of tlie 
 
 fight. 
 Knows his master's crib and bottle, serves by day 
 
 and d'rinks by night; 
 And the handy little boycott, seeks the haunts of 
 
 spineless men, 
 With the dread of awful horror, should the Brewer 
 
 rule again; 
 Men of spine heed not his boycott, and ignore his 
 
 boisterous cry, 
 Bribes and gibes are unavailing, Indiana's going dry. 
 
 Bribes and bribing, noise and bluster, curses high 
 and cursies low 
 
THE WATER WAGON. 9 
 
 O'niy hasten an the coming, when the dram-shops 
 
 all mus.t go; 
 "Marsee Henry" by the River, rants, anid floods the 
 
 Hooi&ier S'hore, 
 With his "yellow" Courier-Journal, with its ^hollow,, 
 
 emip'ty r^oar, 
 Of disasters dire amd awful, wihen the ifizless glass 
 
 rules high, 
 Hus'h your vapourings, dear old Colonel, Indiana's 
 
 going dry. 
 
 For the Southland and 'the Northland, make one 
 
 stand against the foe, 
 And their slogan cry is echoedi, "The saloon must 
 
 go; 
 For the ig"rop shop is an outlaw, and its days of 
 
 grace lare o'er; 
 Tried and tested and found wanting, send it to the 
 
 nether shore, 
 For God's balance, watohed by angels, has .sum;med 
 
 up and weighed its lies, 
 Found our dear old Indiana must ibe nuimibered 
 
 with the "Drys." 
 
 For the Rum' trade long has gloated, in its track 
 a trail of blood. 
 
 From the victims it has imurdered, S'W'eipt them 
 seaward in its flood; 
 
 It has boTne a tide lof anguish throuigh the vale of 
 ■passing years. 
 
 It has :m:ade of children, orphans, it has flooded 
 earth 'with tear?. 
 
 And for this it stand's at judgment with its oild de- 
 fiant cry. 
 
 But the Lord its doo'm has written — "Indiana's go- 
 ing dry. 
 
 Haste, oh haste the coming 'of that golden age and 
 day, 
 
 Whem the brewer and distiller shall have moved 
 ibh'eir mills away; 
 
 And w'hen all their carping minions, shall have fold- 
 ed tents to go. 
 
 To the bleak land of oblivion, where the Lethe's 
 waters flow. 
 
 Then we'll join .our Southern neighbors in a note of 
 triumph high, 
 
10 THE WATER WAGON. 
 
 When our state has prohibition, and our Indiana's 
 "Dry." 
 
 And the foam that made Milwaukee famous town 
 from sea :to sea, 
 
 Wdil not foiam in Indiana, nor in 'distant Tennessee, 
 
 And (the brews of Mr. Lieber, 'will be /brewed 'neath 
 lother skies, 
 
 When our dear old Indiana has been numbered with 
 the Drys, 
 
 And the 'Stills that stilled the whiskey, and the 'deal- 
 ers high, and low. 
 
 Will have shipped their goods and chattels, "the 
 saloon 'must (go." 
 
 Hear the "water wagon" rumble, on its way *-n 
 
 Terre Haute, 
 Where the festive, foaming lager used to sate the 
 
 thirsty throat; 
 Where the boodler and the boozer, fixed the old 
 
 official slate. 
 But the day of ifixing's over in the iproud old Hoosier 
 
 state, 
 And the ibrewer and the boodler, and the boozer and 
 
 their fry, 
 Might as well learn to drink water, Indiana's going 
 
 dry. 
 
 Old Kentucky, with its Bourbon, and its mellow 
 ■mountain dew. 
 
 Hears the water wagon coming, and her .brewers 
 ifizz and stew; 
 
 For the land is not so thirsty, hears no more the 
 ■mel'Low cLiuk, 
 
 When the glasses touched each other, in the fellow- 
 ship of 'drink, — 
 
 Now when cronies 'meet each other, — lift the fizzing 
 so'da high, 
 
 Fellowship needs 'no more whiskey, when our Indi- 
 ana's dry. 
 
 Now again we march throuigih Georgia, from Atlan- 
 ta to the sea, 
 
 And Its 'dry as arid Kansas, Northward to the Kan- 
 kakee, 
 
 And the Kansas "'water wlagon" rumbles Eastward 
 to the Roanoke, 
 
THE WATER WAGON. H 
 
 And one-half of our fair nation is no tonger uinder 
 
 yoke, 
 Do not wonder that we are happy that we sound our 
 
 Silo'gan high 
 W'lien nine-tenths of Indiana has been voted for tha 
 
 dry? 
 
 And our corn 'fieMs will wave tassels, welco'ming 
 the era in 
 
 Wihen our corn and wheat and barley will no loruger 
 ■turn to gin; 
 
 When the iplains of Indiana, with their richest har- 
 veiSt yield, 
 
 Shall have fed the poor and hungry, from our gold- 
 en harvest fields. 
 
 O.h, the Gal'den ajge of plenty, will all 'human want 
 supply, 
 
 When the Hoosier's ■done with 'Wihiskey, and our 
 Indiana's dry. 
 
 KING ALCOHOL. 
 
 Beihold him as he comet'h with gorgeous pornp and 
 power. 
 
 With blare of horn and trumpet as if to rule the 
 hour. 
 
 That wears a robe of purple and sumptuously each 
 day. 
 
 Feeds at a royal table in gorgeous pomp, array. 
 
 While crumbs from ofif his table, he feeds to con- 
 quered kings, 
 
 Who couch like dogs about him, and accept his 
 offerings. 
 
 Who is this monarch proudling, who sports his 
 sparkling gems; 
 
 And dares in God's white sunkght to flash a dia- 
 dem ? 
 
 Who e'en assumes a sceptre and dares to wear a 
 crown. 
 
 Who sets the earth a trembling by every word or 
 frown, 
 
 While statesmen stand before him, obey his royal 
 will. 
 
 Blind minions to his greatness, while he their cof- 
 fers fill; 
 
12 THE WATER WAGON. 
 
 The conscripts in his army, strong men of noble 
 race. 
 
 Yield to his vJle seductions, and take the drunikard's 
 place. 
 
 His is a mi(g)hty army, with foul a.nd 'tainteid breath,, 
 
 A-imarching down the steeps of time, to a dishonor- 
 ed death. 
 
 Who is this that dares to sit and sup with puppet 
 
 kings. 
 Demanding full obeisance and' all their offeringiS,. 
 Whose courts resound with shouting his mighty 
 
 deeds proclaim, 
 Mid Bacchanalian revels in bonor to his na:me; 
 While orgies loud like ancient feast proclaim hts 
 
 banqueting. 
 And wassail bowls doth overflow in honor to this 
 
 king. 
 Who is this that claimeth right, to hold a revel high 
 And law of man and law of God to trample and 
 ■defy. 
 
 Who is this that cometh, 'now with pestilential 
 
 breath, 
 That Iblows like dry sirocco, the desert wind of 
 
 'deatb? 
 W;ho walketh in tbe darkness across the midnight 
 
 •gloom. 
 And! nerves the wild assassin, to do his work of 
 
 idoomi. 
 Who carries woe and sorrow, contention in his 
 
 train, 
 The sunken cheek the blood'-shot eye and the fiery 
 
 ibrain. 
 Whose music is the widow's imoan, the shriek on 
 
 midnight air, 
 Th'e plaintive tone of starving child, the wild cry 
 
 of despair. 
 
 Who is this soari-ng vulture, that watches for his 
 
 prey, 
 Above the rockintgi cradle wihere each new manchild 
 
 lays, 
 Whose reeking talons red with blood' from many 
 
 victims slain 
 Whose nature lusts for human blood, as in the dayi, 
 
 of Cain; 
 
THE WATER WAGON. 13 
 
 Who tires of carrion, drunkard's flesh, and with a 
 
 demon joy, 
 Seeks for his victims 'mong the youth — ^his choice 
 
 the hapless boy; 
 Ah! blood of good men curdle! Oh, Christian, will 
 
 you dare? 
 Cry to yo'Ur God in anguish, then vote to answer 
 
 prayer. 
 
 Pray, what your right, O Alcohol, to 'be proclaimed 
 
 as king? 
 And what your royal claim may be, for tithe and 
 
 offeriing, 
 What hath you brought but darkness, but pes'i- 
 
 lence and death, 
 And love lies crusihe'd and bleedling, where stricken 
 
 by your breath; 
 Oh Alco:hol, thou kingling vile, thy race is nearly 
 
 run, 
 Thy minions and thyseM must slink, before God's 
 
 ■rising sun; 
 We brand thee with the mark o;f Cain, upon thy 
 
 iblackened brow. 
 The cap of doom we p.lace there, we read death's 
 
 sentence now. 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF THE GIN-MILL. 
 
 On the "iblack list" of our nation 
 
 Are two hundred thoiusand mills. 
 Grinding out their gruesome portion 
 
 Of the drunkard's woeful ills; 
 And a hundred thousand imothers, 
 
 Tear-blind'ed in their sorrow. 
 Tell the tale of death and anguisih 
 
 To their sisters of to'morrow. 
 
 Loved ones called him "little brother," 
 
 Rocking in the cradle there; 
 By his side the dearest mother 
 
 Daily Msped a loving prayer; 
 And the angels up in heaven 
 
 Furnished baby with a song — 
 Cooinig, crowing, love light gloiwing — 
 
 'Sweetest baby all day long! 
 
14 THE WATER WAGON. 
 
 Fondest parents watched him growing, 
 
 Watched' him by his m'Other's knee; 
 "Now I lay me" — blessed youthtide, 
 
 Of .'his heavenly innocency. 
 Pure and clean as Eden's morninig,, 
 
 Knowing naught of ways of sin. 
 Angeils watch'ed the early dawning — 
 
 How could evil enter in? 
 
 In the days of adolescence, 
 
 None so pure, so grand as he; 
 Gracious was the coming promise 
 
 Of a imanhood. noble, free. 
 Could there be a foe so fiendish. 
 
 As to plan this life 'to blight? 
 Could there be in pit of darkness 
 
 One so demonized Iby night? 
 
 In the lurking place of evil, 
 
 Where the powers of darkness dwell, 
 An imipersonated devil. 
 
 Held a license — 'drink to sell; 
 Held a license from the nation 
 
 To dispense the drink of death, 
 Hel'd the right to ruin manhood 
 
 With the upas' ipoisonous breath. 
 
 And 'the man who S'oM' — the Rumm}'- — 
 
 Bleated, sordid, seeking gain, — 
 Vended liquor for the money; 
 
 On his brow the mark of Cain." 
 What cared he for hearts a-hleed'wg — 
 
 Mother, home, anguisih or pain? 
 Little cMldren, starving, pleading? 
 
 His gin-mill he run for gain! 
 
 She was but a Christian mother; 
 
 Could not see the reason why 
 Christian imen, in faitih 'her brothers, 
 
 Should not cause this curse to die; 
 Shadowland O'f doubt and darkness, 
 
 Breeding hearts are pass'ing through. 
 Soon would come a blest deliverance. 
 
 Could our men but "dare to d'o" 
 
 He was but a vfillage drunkard, 
 Carried to a potter's field, 
 
THE WATER WAGON. 15 
 
 In a nameless grave unmarked, 
 
 Th-ere a hopeless mother kneeled! 
 Think ye, men, who call Him, "Master," 
 When you at the judgment stand. 
 
 You who dared to stand ior license, — 
 Mark of 'Cain will be your brand? 
 
 Rouse ye, freemen! Christian voters. 
 
 Do you know the drink waif wa.its 
 By the side of every cradle, 
 
 ■Legalized by your own state? 
 Can you sit with hearts complacent, 
 
 W'hile your nation and your home, 
 Are surrouindted' 'by this evil 
 
 Traffic in the sale of rum? ' 
 
 THE COVENANT WITH DEATH. 
 
 (Isaiah 28:15.) 
 I was sitting in the court-^hou&e, 
 
 iWihere the sons of Belial coime 
 To renew their annual licensie 
 
 To dSspense and deal out rum. 
 Was I in the shades of Pluto? 
 
 Sat I there with Ibated breath 
 While the state^ — my state was makintg 
 
 Gruesomie "covenant with death." 
 
 Then there filled that dark pro^cession, — 
 
 Two by two they slowly came 
 To present their "fair" credentials 
 
 Of an 'honest (?) face and name. 
 Christian men hide, hide your faces 
 
 While the proof is coming in, 
 And the sons of Caiin are proving 
 
 "Moral fitness" to sell gin. 
 
 Spake the county's leading solon: 
 
 "Is the hundred dollars in?" 
 And the money sealed the bargain 
 
 "License granted" — "Where's the sin?" 
 Sold for money! Public .morals 
 
 Is no item when the till 
 Of the state is overflowing; 
 
 What care Boards for puiblic ill? 
 
 What care they for 'hearts a-grieving, 
 Blasted hopes, an aimless life, 
 
16 THE WATER WAGON. 
 
 Adrift on seas, the burning lever, 
 Starving children, a helipless wife? 
 
 For the Rummy is a lever. 
 Mighty power in winning votes, 
 
 Terrorizing Christian statesimen, 
 Lining uip the drunken bloats. 
 
 When the day's sad scenes were over, 
 Filthy d'ive. an.d "marble hall," 
 
 H'igh and How the 'dealers blended 
 Court gave lice:ns.e, one and all. 
 
 Not a one denied 'his license, 
 
 Thouigih his life were black las night; 
 
 "Fitness," for the pJ'ace and business, 
 And the rule of "mighit makes right.*' 
 
 Still I siat in silence thinking, 
 
 W'h.en the last p'etiition won, 
 And the Rumimies had departed. 
 
 And the diay's dark worik was done, — 
 Loird, hoiw long shall we be waititng, 
 
 Shalil God's saints with anguisih breath, 
 Bear the shiame, disgrace and sorrow 
 
 Of this "covenant with Death?" 
 
 In the stillness and the waiting, 
 
 Camic a voice so clear and strong; 
 "Christian men must line lin battle; 
 
 And vote out this giant wrong." 
 Mien wiho love, and men who praying 
 
 IDaily for "Thy kingdom come," 
 Will your ballot bear the imarking. 
 
 That will conquer demon Rum? 
 
 THE VOICE OF FREEDOM. 
 
 When tihe gathering ciouds of darkness 
 
 Warned our sires' of coiming night 
 And the s^hade of 'Slavery'.s blackness 
 
 Overshadowed truth and riight. 
 Spake the northern voice of Freedom, 
 
 Clarion noted loud and strong, 
 "We miust break the chains and fetters. 
 
 And abolish slavery's wrong." 
 
 Then there rolled along Atlantic 
 From the Lakes to iSouthern Sea. 
 
THE WATER WAGON. 17 
 
 Voices loud against the "tyrant" 
 
 Who wou.ld stamp out slavery 
 And there followed curs'C and outrage, 
 
 O'H the heroes whio would dare 
 To lift up the voice of Freedom 
 
 And the will of God 'declare. 
 
 "Abolitioin," glorious watchword. 
 
 Let it swell froim shore to shore, 
 It has triumphed .in the battle. 
 
 Slavery's cursie siball reign no more 
 Honored heroes of the "forties," 
 
 iWhittier, Philips, Lovejoy — 'men 
 Daring, .strong and 'One 'a martyr 
 
 Great in deed, in word, with pen. 
 
 Thirty years of marching onward, 
 
 We are strong in wealth and power, 
 Will a free man pause or falter 
 
 On the iss'ue o'f the 'hour? 
 O.nce again the sitorim cloud darkens, 
 
 'Dark the mountain, hill and plain. 
 Marshalled forces, now are gathering. 
 
 We musit battle once again. 
 
 Slavery's bonds again are igialling, 
 
 'Tis the curse and power of rum, 
 Binding with its clinking shackles 
 
 .Rich and ipoor from every home. 
 While the lord-s of legislation, 
 
 'Blind the sense land 'dim the eye. 
 With the glittering of "protection," 
 
 "Tariff low and tariff high." 
 
 And the prophet on 'the watch-tower, 
 
 Not on sale for fam'e or :gold, 
 Warns a 'nation of its danger. 
 
 As was' Soidom warned of ol'd, 
 Like the heroes of the "forties," 
 
 He will m'eet with scoffs and jeers, 
 Some will 'love him, S'0.me will hate him, 
 
 'Some will greet 'himi with loud cheers. 
 
 Line for battle, 'Chris'tian voters, 
 Line as freemen brave and ibold 
 
18 THE WATER WAGON. 
 
 'Gainst tbe hirelings of the .gin trade, 
 They have bought with drink or gold, 
 
 Let your voice rise o'er the Ibattle, 
 Falter not, but lift the cry — ■ 
 
 Till the whole state hears the slogan, 
 "Indiana's going dry." 
 
 THE GIN-MILL MUST GO. 
 
 The gin-milils in the Hoosier State 
 
 (Are stirred with freah alarm, 
 Anid Demon Drink is made to think; — 
 
 From city, town and farm 
 Comes the glad news across the plain, 
 
 A gladsomie joyful cry, 
 We're marching on, one imore is gone, 
 
 The State is .go'in'g dry. 
 
 The rustlimg in the Georgia pines 
 
 Is borne upon the breeze. 
 That tolls the knell of Belial 
 
 From Guil'f to inland seas; 
 Their doom is written on the wall, 
 
 Oh hear the brewers sigh. 
 The tide rol'Is on, one more is gone. 
 
 The State is goinig dry. 
 
 O mothers of the Hoosier State, 
 
 Deliverance has come! 
 The mother's foe, the yountg man's foe — 
 
 The licensc'd den of Ruim — 
 Has h«ard its doom read clear and strong. 
 
 Above th£ 'battle's cry. 
 We're clearing ground, O list the sound. 
 
 The State is going dry. 
 
 Ccme, freemen, from your hiding-place. 
 
 Get in the battle's fire; 
 Be men of nerve and, freeidom serve. 
 In Freedom's conflict dire; 
 The rum -shop's rule 'is doomed to die. 
 
 The courts can but deny, 
 Gin-mills must go — foul dfens of woe. 
 
 The State will soon be dry. 
 
THE WATER WAGON. 19 
 
 KEEP ON TRYING. 
 
 Are you sometimes fired and weary, 
 
 In the battle strife, 
 And 3'ou long for scenes 'more -cheery 
 
 And a larger life.. 
 When the twilight's slowly dying, 
 Comes this message, keep on trying. 
 
 Att'd you scan the lonely pathway, 
 
 You so pO'Orly trod'. 
 From the 3^outh tide and its crossway, 
 
 In your struggle up to God; 
 Caime a Tnessage mdds't your ^sighing, 
 Don't give up, but keep on trying. 
 
 Some great day when you are nearing, 
 Tihe ibriig'h.t goal by yo'nder gate, 
 
 When the angel hosts appearing, 
 And j'^^our blessings there await. 
 
 Then rejoice while death 'defying, 
 
 'Twas worth while you kept on trying. 
 
 VIA DOLOROSA. 
 
 I have wal'ked amid the shadows. 
 
 Scarce could see the igileam of light 
 Shot across the path of 'darkness, 
 
 In 'the gloiam of S'orrow's night. 
 But amid the tempest raging. 
 
 Ever walked a friend with me; 
 God be .praised, that Frienid has ever 
 
 Been the Man of Galilee. 
 
 I have felt life's k'Cen affliction, 
 
 I have walked beneath the ro<d, 
 But He crowned the year with goodness, 
 
 And I've found new faith in God. 
 God ibe praised for a'W His blessiinigs, 
 
 For the lighthouse by the sea, 
 With its gleam 'cross S'Orrow's waters, 
 
 And my Friend of Galilee. 
 
 Life now means a larger service, 
 
 Else the sorrow and the pain 
 Would have lost their deeper meaning, 
 
 And life's loss exceed its gain; 
 
20 THE WATER WAGON. 
 
 So I come, with stronger purpose, 
 Froiin. beneath the "cloud and sea" 
 
 With a larger life and service 
 For the Man of Galilee. 
 
 And I bring Him larger service, 
 
 With Love's incense to iHis ^shrine, 
 And a life that aays, while trusting, 
 
 "Not my will be done, but Thine." 
 Onwar-d, forward, thiis my purpose. 
 
 Till I reach the narrow sea. 
 And cross o'er to meet my Brother- 
 
 iMeet the Man of Galilee. 
 
 FROM OUT THE DEPTHS. 
 
 Out of the depths I cry to thee, 
 A soul enthralled that must be free, 
 A bondman seekinig liberty, 
 
 My soul will die, 
 
 Hear Lord my cry. 
 And make this ^bondman free. 
 
 I loioik to heaven, I see release.. 
 'Tis borne upon the wings of peace, 
 A joy that never more shall cease. 
 
 The heavens shine, 
 
 'With light divine, 
 For rest ihas come and peace. 
 
 My friend with feet in mire and clay, 
 
 From out your depths oh cry to'day, 
 Come to 'my Ohrist without delay, 
 
 Thy feet may stand 
 
 On Beulah's land, 
 Upon the solid rock to stay. 
 
 Oh, soul cast down look up, arise. 
 
 From dismal swamps the Highlands rise, 
 
 Fro'm gloom^ and night to sunny skies. 
 
 The heavens shine, 
 
 The glory's thine, 
 From out the depths arise. 
 
THE WATER WAGOHJ. 21 
 
 THE PATHWAY OF PEACE. 
 
 I sit in silence at His feet. 
 
 My life is sad and imcomiplete; 
 
 Harrassed by doubt, distressed by fears, 
 
 I feel the burden of the years. 
 
 In pain ot anguish — life's rude shock 
 
 I flee to Him who is my Rock. 
 
 I lo'ng to feel the joy complete 
 Of battle won and sin's defeat, 
 And imipulse, .pasion, self, and pride 
 Nailed to the cross and crucified. 
 Come, Holy Ghost, I long for Thee; 
 Aibide within and make me free. 
 
 The Spirit whispers, "Grace is free, 
 Come, weiary one, it is for thee;" 
 The offered peace I may command. 
 Sflialll I acicep't it froim His hanid? 
 I haste, accept, without delay 
 My all upon the altar lay. 
 
 And dare I say, as dare I mu'sit, 
 That I lam His by faith and trust? 
 I yield my wiill, and light divine 
 Dispels the 'gloom and He is mine; 
 The joy of heaven and sweet release 
 Has come at last with perfect peace! 
 
 MY GRACE IS SUFFICIENT. 
 
 "My grace is sufficient for thee," 
 Glad imessage of truth thtou art mine; 
 
 My rock to this refuge I flee. 
 And rest on the promise divine. 
 
 Once I carried my Iburdens alone. 
 
 And often I longed to be free; 
 But I found at the foot of the throm 
 
 That his grace was sufficient for me. 
 
 I sfoo'd mid the gloaminig and dark, 
 
 0.n the shore of eternity's sea, 
 And I feared to launch my frail bark. 
 
 Then his grace proved sufficient for m 
 
22 THE WATER WAGON. 
 
 And when I shall reach the bri'ght shore, 
 'Wihere from earth care's sorrow I'm free; 
 
 My iheart Sibail rejoice evermore, 
 That grace was sufficient for me 
 
 His grace is sufficient for me, 
 
 Glad message of hope for today, 
 Dear Lord 'tis this pro,mise from thee, 
 
 That arms for life's conflict and fray. 
 
 THE GOOD-BYE KISS. 
 
 I hear the patter of children's feet. 
 
 Exultant and joyous with igike, 
 Little "invaders"' with -messages S'weet 
 
 'And their good-tbye kisses for me, 
 Away to school, my dear litle ones. 
 
 Your presence has brought with you light, 
 The books and the papers, work yet undone, 
 Are brighter and work's a delight. 
 
 Oh Message of Childhood! pure and divine, 
 
 Our Father has sent, and the bliss 
 Your childish faces, sweet message ibenign 
 
 You have brought in the good-bye kiss, 
 Like a dream of old, in ■enchanted land, 
 
 •Shines the "study" with halo of light, 
 I take up my work and the labor in hand 
 
 Is a round of joy and delight. 
 
 I go on the street, I mingle with .men, 
 
 Their greetings -are formal and cold, 
 Kisses of morning — sweet magic again, 
 
 Turns the world into sunshine and -gold. , 
 My heart goes out for the crabbed and cross 
 
 Who are losing life's heavenly bliss. 
 Their igold and glitter is only dross, 
 
 They're -needing the good-bye kiss. 
 
 Climb to my study dear little ones. 
 Break intio my work with your play. 
 
 Turn over my papers, having your fun, 
 YotiT kisses will am-ple repay, 
 
 Whatever betide as years come and go, 
 I wo-uld not surrender the 'bliss 
 
 Of the love of the children, for all the vain show, 
 I'll cherish the "good-bye kiss." 
 
THE WATER WAGON. 28 
 
 THE OLD ROCKER. 
 
 There's an old. old rocker, anid I love it so, 
 With its precious .memories, of the long ago; 
 It has ihad a cozy corner, mid the passing years, 
 Waiting for my coming amid life's smiles and tears. 
 
 'Twas there I sat at evening, laid aside my care. 
 Forgetting all life's worries, rocking in that chair. 
 It has soothed life's fever, while leaninig on its arms, 
 Wihile joy and peace and reverie have soothed me 
 by their charms. 
 
 Around me came imy children, and climbed upon 
 my knees, 
 
 Tihey owned the man and rocker, — the little bird- 
 lings free. 
 
 Their throne was that old rocker, as we rocked to 
 and fro, 
 
 I and these little kinglings of the iong ago. 
 
 And still the old, old rocker has its sweetest charms, 
 Amid the larger cares of life, I flee to its arms; 
 And mid the restful reveries, of the long ago, 
 I gather strength for battle, while rocking to and 
 fro. 
 
 Oh the old old rocker of the long ago. 
 
 How precious are the memories, amid the after 
 
 glow. 
 The tide is bearing seaward, and life's sun 'will set. 
 But the hours in that old rocker, I never shall for- 
 
 Iffet. 
 
 THE LORD IS MY LIGHT. 
 
 When down the dark valley my footste;ps shall go, 
 I'll fear not the darkness, His presence I know. 
 Will brighten the pathway, for he is my light. 
 To drive out the darkness with radiance bright. 
 
 Though there may be pitfalls, oh why should I fear, 
 His dear word of proimise with its message is near; 
 Though my strength be as weakness, and I fear I 
 
 may fall. 
 His strenigth shall restore me, his presence enwall. 
 
24 THE WATER WAGON. 
 
 Tihe foe that my footsteps may seek to ensnare, 
 May seek to enthrall me and drive to despair; 
 But the light in the 'darkness dispels the dark igloom, 
 It 'brightens I'ife's pathway, it lightens the tomb. 
 
 Ten New Temperance Songs. 
 
 THE SALOON MUST GO. 
 
 Tune, "Hold the Fort." 
 
 Ho! my brothers, line for battle 
 
 'Gainst our comimon foe; 
 We are in a m'ighty conflict, 
 
 The saloon must go. 
 
 Chorus: — 
 Vote for right, yes vote is siquarely, 
 
 Vote against the .foe. 
 Vote out rum from state and county, 
 
 The saloon must igio. 
 
 Long has rum its 'banner flaunted, 
 
 Filled our Jand with woe; 
 Now the wrath of God is coming, 
 
 The saloon mu'st go. 
 
 Let the laddies and the lasses 
 
 lAmd the -mothers know 
 That this battle's for he ihearthstone, 
 
 The satoon -m-ust igo. 
 
 Let the Christian and the voter 
 Arm against the foe 
 With the weapons of the ballot. 
 Vote that Rum must go. 
 
 Vote for figiht and a clean conscience. 
 
 Vote so all may know; 
 That your ballot when it's counted 
 
 'Means sal'oons must igo. 
 
 Vote to save the wife and children 
 
 iFrom their greatest foe; 
 Vote the rum curse from the nation, 
 
 The s:aloon must go. 
 
 Chorus. — 
 
THE WATER WAGO:tf. 25 
 
 DOWN WITH THE SALOON. 
 
 Etown in the licensed d«n, 
 
 ■Stands a brother man. 
 
 Drinking from the cup that will curse his life. 
 
 While all the fiends of night 
 
 iDance with glad delight, 
 
 (Round a drunikard made, and a ruined life. 
 
 Choeus: Vote out the licensed den, 
 All ye sons of men, 
 Save your poor fellow man, 
 iSave him today. 
 
 ©own in that licensed hell 
 
 (Where the demons dwell, 
 
 There some mother's son, her pride and her joy, 
 
 iijured to this haunt of gin, 
 
 (Whose now is the sin. 
 
 That hath cursed this home and a mother's boy. 
 
 All ye who voted wet. 
 
 Are you thinking yet, 
 
 (Of your ballot cast and its train of woe. 
 
 Of the curse that you brought, 
 
 virtue sold for nought? 
 
 And your black little ballot made it so. 
 
 Vote then. Oh Christian men! 
 
 Vote drink from the land, 
 
 IFor the hand of God writing on the wall. 
 
 Tells of the judgment doom. 
 
 Passed on the saloon. 
 
 And his day of wxath, when his judgment falls. 
 
 FORWARD TO VICTORY. 
 
 (Tune: Onward, Christian iSoldiers.) 
 
 Onward, Christian voters. 
 
 Like an army strong. 
 
 With your clean white ballots, 
 
 That will conquer wrong. 
 
 Long have we ibeen waiting. 
 
 To strike down the foe. 
 
 Long have we been praying, 
 
 For saloons to go. 
 
26 THE WATER WAGON. 
 
 Chorus: Forward, Christian voters, 
 iMarch upon the foe, 
 Ever this your watchword, 
 The saloon must go. 
 
 .Forward wives and children, 
 
 Liift your battle cry, 
 'Let the voter hear it, 
 
 That you want it dry. 
 Rum has cursed the hearthstone, 
 
 'Tis your common foe, 
 Shout for prohibition, 
 
 The saloon must go. 
 
 God has surely written. 
 
 Placed upon the wall, 
 Judgment words of warning, 
 
 (Soon (His wrath will fall, 
 IChristian men and voters. 
 
 Strike the common foe. 
 With a pure white ballot. 
 
 The saloon must go. 
 
 Hasten then the morning. 
 
 Of that Golden Day, 
 When the Christian voter 
 
 Votes the way he prays. 
 When the gin mills grinding, 
 
 With its grist of woe, 
 Shall have ceased forever, 
 
 THJE eAiUOOiN IMUST GO! 
 
 THE CRUSADE FOR THE HOME. 
 
 (Tune: Old Folks at Home.) 
 Vote for tbe homes down by the river. 
 
 And on the plain, 
 Vote for the boys and girls that live there, 
 
 lAnd make it dry as Maine; 
 The saloon is down by that river, 
 
 Where children play. 
 And its shadow rests on the dear ones. 
 
 Then drive it far away. 
 
 Chorus: Oh, tbe heart so sad and weary. 
 Waiting for release, 
 From the foul curse of Rum that binds us. 
 
THE WATER WAGON. 27 
 
 Oh men, give our land sweet peace. 
 In the many homes of our people, 
 
 Hearts break today. 
 For tthe boys that are leaving our hearthstones, 
 
 'In the .saloon to stray. 
 Oh the blue-eyed innocent darlings, 
 
 Homes pride and joy. 
 What can the mother hope tomorrow, 
 
 When drink has claimed her iboy. 
 
 Oh men who are lords of the hearthstone, 
 
 Vote as you pray. 
 Vote for the children that iGod gave you. 
 
 Move the saloon away. 
 Make the old flag that waves ahove us. 
 
 Stainless today. 
 May "Old Olory" wave Ln iGod's isunlight. 
 
 On a saloonless day. 
 
 VOTE RIGHT. 
 
 (S"ome wander with the folks that booze 
 Some weep with tearful eye, 
 'But we are in the option fight. 
 Until our State is dry. 
 
 Chorus : 
 Vote right, vote right, on election day, 
 Vote right, vote right, vote the way you pray. 
 Vote to save our people from the rule of gin. 
 Vote for (P.rohibition, and the day we'll win. 
 
 fThe hosts may gather with their booze. 
 Their kegs and bottles fly, 
 (We'll keep the battle raging hot. 
 Until our State is dry. 
 
 Our God is fighting with the "drys" 
 Vote right our slogan cry, 
 We'll vote to save the boys and g|rls, 
 Our State is going dry. 
 
 We'll put the ballot in the box 
 Upon election day, 
 (A. ballot that is clean and white, 
 LA.nd counts the way we pray. 
 
28 THE WATER WAGON. 
 
 The Prohibition fight will win, 
 
 Let "booze" and "boodle" cry. 
 
 The right will win, then, down with gin 
 
 Our iState is going dry. 
 
 OUR OLD INDIANA HOME. 
 
 (Tune: "Old Kentudky Home.") 
 The days are bright in the Indiana home 
 For the rum trade is •doomed to die; 
 The voters are awake everywhere you roam. 
 Saying that the state will soon be dry. 
 The yoting folks down toy the little schoolhouse 
 
 d«or 
 Are happy and joyful and gay. 
 For good times will come, and troubles will be o'er 
 V/hen the grog sihops have all moved away. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Weep no more dear mothers, 
 
 Then weep no more today, 
 
 We will sing one song 
 
 Of a happy Christian home. 
 
 When the dram shops have all been swept away. 
 
 The days were dank when our youth in galling 
 
 chains 
 Were sold on the auction block to greed. 
 And the price paid the state in the marts of gain, 
 Went to meet the state's financial need. 
 But the days have come when the little school- 
 house door 
 'Needs no prop from a license fee. 
 And the price of blood to educate the poor. 
 Shall no more be the rum demond's plea. 
 
 The days grow bright in the Indiana home 
 
 With the larger life that's to be. 
 
 When the curse and the blight, the sorrow and 
 
 ishame 
 Shall have gone and from rum we are free. 
 When our banners white, for purity and home 
 Are floating in the 'Hoosier sky 
 [Let the state rejoice, the mother cease her moan. 
 For our Hoosier State is going dry. 
 
THE WATER WAGON. 29 
 
 A GOOD TIME COMING. 
 
 (Tune: Sweet By and By.) 
 There's a time coming not far away, 
 
 (When the gin mill shall grind no more, 
 WhecQ the iNor.th and .the Soubh shall he dry. 
 
 And the rule of the Brewers is o'er. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 In that sweet by and by, 
 
 We'll rejoice when the battle is o'er. 
 And our country is dry, 
 
 And the rule of the Brewers is o'er. 
 
 We have long bowed our neck to their yoke. 
 Heard the anguish and sorrow and cry, 
 
 But the bondage that bound will be broke, 
 When the North and ISouth both are dry. 
 
 Then the smoke of their mills will be gone. 
 And their shops and their brew move awaj% 
 
 And the children that once cried for bread 
 Will be fed when we vote as we pray. 
 
 For a good time will come by and by, 
 JWhen your vote moves the gin mill away. 
 
 And the North and the South shall be dry. 
 Then voter please vote as you pray. 
 
 OUR STATE IS GOING DRY. 
 
 (Tune: iBattle Hymn of the Republic.) 
 Have you heard the joyful message. 
 Have you caught the slogan cry. 
 From the QLakes to the Ohio, that our State is going 
 
 dry. 
 And tuat beer and rum and whiskey and the fizzing 
 booze must fly. 
 
 Our iState is going dry. 
 
 Chorus: dory, Clory, Hallelujah! 
 Glory, Glory, Hallelujah! 
 Glory, Glory, Hallelujah! 
 Our IState is going dry. 
 
 Send the word down into Posey, tell it up in Lafayette 
 That the days of 'booze are over, and the drys will 
 beat the wets, 
 
30 THE WATER WAGON. 
 
 And the loyal country voter does not care a fig for 
 threats, 
 Our State is going dry. 
 
 Let the people down in Spencer show the hrewers 
 
 that the lie 
 Of a heavy load of taxes does not count where towns 
 
 are dry. 
 And the trade in toooze is ended and the rum trade 
 
 soon will die. 
 Our 'State is going dry. 
 
 Send the word to Wayne and Hichmond, let her peo- 
 ple now decide. 
 
 Tell the voters down in iFramklin, where some wet 
 folks still abide. 
 
 That our iState will drink cold water and "old hooze" 
 must step aside. 
 Our State is going dry. 
 
 Send the word to Cass and Blackford, that the days 
 
 of ihoozing's past. 
 And the hoozer and his master hang their hanner at 
 
 half mast, 
 For the dry wave from the Southland, our old State 
 
 has reached at last. 
 Our State is going dry. 
 
 Tell the Courier-Journal that it's sun of power is set — 
 Ten years back in the procession — 
 
 IWhen or Marsee made it wet, , 
 And its fussing, fizzing, foaming is the weakest ever 
 met, 
 Onr State is going dry. 
 
 For the iProhibition people have begun housecleaning 
 
 day. 
 And tne first thing on the program is to drive saloons 
 
 away, 
 Fellow voter, vote it squarely, vote it "yes" election 
 day. 
 Our State is going dry. 
 
 Fellow voters up in Vigo, and dear, friends at La- 
 fayette, 
 
 And in Franklin and in Marion, line with us against 
 the wet, 
 
THE WATER WAGON. 31 
 
 For Rum's day of grace is over and its sun of hope 
 is set. 
 Our iState is going dry. 
 
 GOD SAVE OUR LAND. 
 
 (Tune: "America.") 
 iGod save my native land, 
 From the 'Rum demon's hand 
 
 And curse of woe. 
 Save from the foes that blight, 
 IThat walketh in the night; 
 iSave for the rule of right, 
 
 When (Rum must go. 
 
 From valley and Irom plain. 
 Let not one "still" remain, 
 
 To curse with woe — 
 Our land from sea to sea. 
 From iMaine to iTennessee, 
 /Let all the land ibe free 
 
 From the dread foe. 
 
 Oh freemen be thou brave, 
 iScorn to :be called a slave. 
 
 And Rum defy; 
 Vote that the shades of night 
 (Give place to rule of right. 
 Vote for the morning light, 
 
 When all is dry. 
 
 Move the saloon away. 
 Vote, vote the way you pray; 
 
 MaJke the land free. 
 This is your holy right. 
 To save from Rum's foul blight. 
 Our land from deeds of night. 
 
 Vote, liberty. 
 
 THE DRUNKARD'S SAD HOME. 
 
 'Mid all of life's sorrows, wherever I roam. 
 The scene that most pains me is the drunkard's 
 home. 
 
2i2 THE WATER WAGON. 
 
 Oh the 'pain and the sorrow — the father away, 
 In yon village ale house, carousing all day. 
 
 Chorus: Home, Home, sad, sad home. 
 When father is drinking, 
 Down in the saloon. 
 
 What right has the father to use up the pay, 
 While the wife and the children, are hungry all day? 
 What right has the nation, to license the den, 
 That takes food from children — ^makes demons of 
 naen? 
 
 Then rouse, rouse, ye freemen — ye voters that roam. 
 Away from the hearthstone — vote, vote for your home. 
 For wife and the "babies, and that golden day, 
 When the workman's tempter, has Ibeen moved away. 
 
 Chorus: Then, Home, Home, Sweet Home, 
 When father quits drinking, 
 'And brings his wage home. 
 
 ^^ 
 
The Crusade Series of 
 Lectures: 
 
 The Great Jled Dragon. 
 
 Indiana's Going Dry. 
 
 Frances E. Willard. 
 
 The Water Wagon. 
 
 The Knighthood of the New Chivalry 
 
 God's Tenth. 
 
 The Author of this booklet will be glad to make en- 
 gagements with the W. C. T. U., Temperance Organiza- 
 tions, Churches, or Young People's Societies for a date or 
 series of dates on the above Lectures, which have in them 
 
 THE "FIRE OF THE NEW CRUSADE." 
 
 For terms and dates address, 
 
 Rev. Walter B, Grimes, Pastor Main St. M. E. Church, 
 New^ Albany, Ind.