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Oh, who that has looked on a scene so endearing,
1 Take back the bowl! take back the bowl !
Reserve it for polluted lips;
Beneath its dark and foul eclipse.
Oblivion o'er the haunted soul-
Away! Away ! take back the bowl. 3 An upright heart—a guiltless brow
A soul unbowed, are left alone;
The only staff I lean upon.
Shall never prompt to deeds accursed
Willis. 1 Look not upon the sparkling wine,
When red within the cup ;
Her tempting beaker up;
2 They say 'tis pleasant on the lip,
And lively on the brain ;
And dulls the tooth of pain ;
A stinging serpent treach'rous sleeps. 3 Then turn the burning cup aside,
· And spill the purple wine;
Let not its curse be thine :
Whose power the giant fiend obeys,
2 Thou wilt not break the bruised reed,
Nor leave the broken heart unbound;
3 Spare, Lord, the thoughtless, guide the blind,
Till man no more shall deem it just,
4 With nature's draught your goblets fill,
And pledge the world that ye are free!
SARGENT. Jeremiah, 13: 12-14. 1 When Israel's God in his anger had spoken,
The prophet prefigured the curse that he willid: It was not that life's golden bowl should be
broken, But every botile with wine should be filled. 2 Avert, God of mercy, that sorrow and sadness,
That broke the fond hearts of Jerusalem then; Permit not the spirit of murder and madness To move with the form and the features of men.
3 Oh, let us not torture the treasures of heaven,
To find where the secret of unisery lies ;
The pure draught of nature for mortals supplies. 4 'The bonds of the bacchanal hence let us sever ;
The draught that bewilders the reason, resign; The type of the prophet be cherished forever : God's vials of wrath were their bottles of wine !
1 0, TREAT the drunkard kindly,
Say not to him in wrath,
An imp in virtue's path :
He is to mercy lost-
On dangerous billows tossed.
2 Speak to the drunkard kindly,
And take him by the hand,
Once more erect may stand ;
He needs to save him now;
How they inspire his brow ! 3 Speak to the drunkard kindly,
And let the starting tear
And sympathy sincere!
From wretchedness and woe,
Pure gratitude to flow.
And you will surely win
From sorrow and from sin :
Full many a soul will shine,
Was raised to bliss divine.
11s. & 8s. 1 Hark, hark, the sweet music that sounds thro'
And thrills in the ears of us all ; [the land, As louder and louder each cold water band,
Responds to the true temp'rance call. 2 Lo! thousands spring up from each valley and
And seizing the soul-stirring strain, [hill. Send back the blest challenge with hearty good From hill-top to valley again.
3 And thus may the strains of the cold-water song
Refresh us while lasts the glad day;
Till time with us passes away. 4 While hope, with her warm light, each beaming
Evermore may that life-giving strain [eye fills, Ring out as an earnest of joy, till it thrills
And echoes to heaven again.
M. W. Hale.
1 Praise for the glorious light,
Which crowns this joyous day;
And wake our grateful lay!
2 Praise for the mighty band,
Redeemed from error's chain ;
Join our triumphant strain!
Upon the tented field ;
The victor's helm and shield.
And truth's all-pleading voice,
Have made our hearts rejoice.
Th' imploring voice we raise ;
Thine be our loftiest praise.