Hark ! hark ye ! O, listón I the sorrow and weeping That rise from the hovel where misery reigns, To the howl oL the wiuds a wild harmony keeping That chills the warm life-blood that speeds thro' our veins. Sad ! sad is the story those accents are telling, Like the wail of the dyiug it pierces the air, Ah! what hath so blusted that comfortlesa dwelüng ? The monster Intemperance is rioting there. The wife worse than widowed - forlorn and heart-broken, Whilo huuger and want make her little one's cry, All pale and forlorn hears the terrible token Of anguiBh,- the steps of her husbaud draw nigh. Thoso sounds she once caught with unspeakable gladness, Wheu lit with affection his eye fondly shone, Now sunk in her bosom o'er-burdened wilh sadntiss, Like the funeral knell or the dirge's low moan. He comes ! see he comes ! but no fond salutation Breaks forth from those Ups that ouce ïnurmured of loTe, Those eyes once accustomed to smile approbation, Look dark as the storm-clouda that gather above. With oaths and reproaches he vents his displeasure, And smites the frail form he is bound to protect; Her tears and entreaties avail in no measure, He treats her with scorn or with cruel neglect. His babies, who once crowded around for his blessing " Or sat gaily prattliug for joy on his knee, Familiar with blows in the place of caressing, . Away from their father instiuctively flee. Oh ! the withering curse, and the ruin appalling, Which Alcohol wreaks on a suffering yorld ! May the people's rebuke - like hot thuuder bolts falling- Shower fierce on the üend till from earth lie is hurled.