Poems (Barker)/To the Liquor Sellers of

by Alice J. Green Barker

To the Liquor Sellers of—

Oh! listen, listen to the cry
 That comes from bleeding hearts,
Beneath a crushing weight of woe
 The teardrop quickly starts.
Oh! hear the prayer, the pleading prayer,
 And turn not thou away,
Give up this work that early leads
 Our darling ones astray.

Oh! from thy counters take the bowl,
 Filled to its brim with woe,
Break thou the chains which hold them fast,
 And let our loved one go.
Give, give them back to us once more,
 Though they have wandered far,
Angels will help us win them back,
 The gate of Heaven's ajar.

Take thou the tempting cup away,
 List to our pleading prayer,
Over thy life a curse shall hang
 That will be hard to bear.
For oh! remember that this earth
 Is not the end of life,
It may be full of bitterness,
 Of worse than earthly strife.

Oh! cans't thou see a sweet child weep
 With anguish deep and wild,
Knowing that thou hast caused its grief,
 Made it a drunkard's child?
Or see fair woman droop and die,
 Too frail to bear the life,
Worse, far, far worse each day, than death
 To her, a drunkard's wife?

Oh! can'st thou see the bloated form,
 The pain distorted face,
Knowing it was thy hand that stamped
 That name with dark disgrace?
And can'st thou hear the widow's cry,
 One hour of sorrow save,
To her who kneels, with broken heart,
 Beside a drunkard's grave?

Oh! say not thou, "'tis not my work,
 I give but what they ask,"
Beyond death's gate thy life shall be
 Freed from its earthly mask.
Each day upon thy counter stands
 The beverage of Hell;
Sometime these words may sorrow bring,
 "You tempted, and we fell."

Oh! lure them not, our darling ones,
 With breaking hearts we pray,
Lead not one soul, one precious soul,
 From honor's path astray.
Then from thy counters take the bowl,
 Filled to its brim with woe,
Break thou the chains which hold them fast,
 And let our loved ones go.