Song of the Three Hundred Thousand Drunkards in the United States

We come! we come! with sad array,
And in procession long,
To join the army of the lost, —
Three hundred thousand strong.
Our banners, beckoning on to death,
Abroad we have unrolled;
And Famine, Care, and wan Despair
Are seen on every fold.
Ye heard what music cheers us on, —
The mother's cry, that rang
So wildly, and the babe's that wailed
Above the trumpet's clang.
We've taken spoil; and blighted joys
And ruined homes are here;
We 've trampled on the throbbing heart,
And flouted sorrow's tear.
We come! we come! we've searched the land,
The rich and poor are ours —
Enlisted from the shrines of God,
From hovels and from towers.
And who or what shall balk the brave,
Who swear to drink and die?
What boots to such man's muttered curse
Or His that spans the sky?
Our leader! who of all the chiefs,
Who 've triumphed from the first,
Can blazon deeds like his"? such griefs,
Such wounds, such trophies curst.
We come! Of the world's scourges, who
Like him have overthrown?
What wo had ever earth, like wo
To his stern prowess known?
Onward! though ever on our march,
Hang Misery's countless train;
Onward for hell! — from rank to rank
Pass we the cup again!
We come! we come! to fill our graves,
On which shall shine no star;
To glut the worm that never dies, —
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
There faith lifts up her cheerful eye,
To brighter prospects given,
And views the tempest passing by; —
The evening shadows quickly fly,
And all 's serene, in heaven.
There, fragrant flowers immortal bloom,
And joys supreme are given;
There, rays divine disperse the gloom, —
Beyond the confines of the tomb
Appears the dawn of heaven.