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Where solitude, and punishment,
And toil divide the time;
And as they forc'd him through its gate,
Unwillingly along,
They told me 'twas Intemperance
That made him do the wrong.
I saw a woman weep
As if her heart would break;
They said her husband drank too much
Of what he should not take.
I saw an unfrequented mound,
Where weeds and brambles wave;
They said no tear had fallen there,
It was a drunkard's grave.
They said these were not all
The risks the intemperate run,
For there was danger lest the soul
Be evermore undone.
Water is very pure and sweet,
And beautiful to see,
