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The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 45

No Drunkards There

No Drunkards There.

There IS a beautiful land, we are told,
With rivers of silver and streets of gold;
Bright are the beings whose shining feet
Wander along each quiet street,
Sweet is the music that fills the air—
No drunkards are there.

No garrets are there, where the weary wait,
Where the room is cold and the hours are late;
No pale-faced wife, with looks of fear,
Listens for steps she dreads to hear.
The hearts are freed from pain and care—
No drink is sold there.

All the long day in that beautiful land,
The clear waters ripple o'er beds of sand;
And down on the edge of the water's brink
Those white robed beings wander, nor shrink,
Nor fear the power of the tempter's snare,
For no wine is there.

Father! look down from Thy throne, I pray,
Hasten, oh! hasten the glorious day;
Help us to work as a temperance band
To drive the demon away from the land;
Teach us to say. We will dry every tear
Which drink makes flow here.