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The Poor Man And The Fiend

The Poor Man And The Fiend image
Parent Issue
Day
2
Month
August
Year
1878
Copyright
Public Domain
OCR Text

A fiend once níet a hunible man At night, in the colcï, dark street, And led hini into a palace fair, Wbere mupic circled sweet; And líght and warmth cheeredthewanderer'sheart. Froin frost and darkness Bcreened, Tj.11 bis brain grewmad beneath the joy, Aiid he worshiped before the flend. Ah ! well if he nt'er had knelt to that fiend, For a ta3kmaKter grim was he ; And he saM, 1( One-half of thy life on earth I enjoin tnee to yield to mo; Aad when, from rising till set of sun, Thou bast tnüed in the heat or biiow, Let thy gains on mine altar an offering be ;" And the poor man ne'er said " No ! ' The poor man bad health, more dear than gold, Stout bone and muscle strong, That neither faint nor weary grew, To toil the June day long ; And the fiend, his god, cried hoarse atid loud ' Thy strength thou xnust f orego, Or thou do worshiper art of mine;" And Üie pocr man ne'er said " No I" Tbree chHdren bleet the poor taan'e home - Stray angelB ínropped on earth - ■ The fiend beheld their sweet blue eyee, And he laughed iu fearful mirth ; " Bring forth thy little ones," quoth he, " My godhcad wills it ao ! I want an eveiiing Bacrifice ; And the poor man ne'er eaid " No !!' A young wife pat by the poor man's fire, Who, eince she bhishod a bride, Ead gilded hia sorrow, acd bngbtened his joya, His guardián, friend and guide. Foul fall tbe fiend ! he gave command, ' Come, mix the cup of woe, Bid tby young wife drain it to the dregs ;" And the poor man ne'er said " No I" O.ïmisery now for this poor man ! O, deepest of misery f Next the flend his godlike reason took, And amoDgst beastB fed he ; And when the sentinel mind was gone, He püfered bis soul aleo ; And - marvel of marvele !- he murmured cot ; The poor man ne'er said ' No I" Now, men and matrons in your prime, Children and grandsires old, Come listen, with bouI as well as ear, This sajlng whil&t I unfold; O, listen ! till yotir brain wbirls round, And your heart is sick to think. That in England's isle all this befell, And the name of the fiend was - Drink!

Article

Subjects
Old News
Michigan Argus