Poems (Emma M. Ballard Bell)/The Specter
THE SPECTER.
Among the demon forms that wander o'erOur world, those shapes of sin, first causes greatOf ev'ry earthly ill and ev'ry woe,A specter walks, the victims of whose wiles,Lured down to death, in numbers far exceedThose slain upon the battle-fields of earth.Through hours of night, at midday, at all times,Dauntless and unabashed he stalks abroad.And many are the gifted and the proudWho fall into his snares and lose their all;The consciousness within of hearts uprightAnd pure; all hope of happiness and peaceIn this the present life or that beyond;While this destroyer writes upon each one,In characters that may be read by all,His name—Intemperance. Where'er doth comeThis soul-polluting presence, shadows fallMore dark than those which hang around the tomb.For as his footsteps o'er the threshold passOf homes where joy abode, how soon From those who watch the loved one's fall, departsThe sunlight of the soul! In vain for them,So far as aught of gladness is concerned,The morn, her fingers tinged with roseate hues,Above day's banner glorious unfurls,O'er whose blue field noontide throws cloudy folds;And eve, with gentle aspect coming on,A gold and purple lining gives to each,Then closer wraps the gorgeous folds, till fromThe earth fades out the glad and beauteous day.So come and go the sunset, morn, and noon,No more with images of beauty fraughtTo those sad hearts who in each joyous thingSee naught but bitter mock'ry of their grief.
The vigils kept through many midnight hours,The bitter, bitter tears that silent fall,Beheld by none save the All-seeing Eye,Are all by God's recording angel keptIn His own book. Remember, ye who urgeThis demon on, that ye may, from the spoilAnd ruin by him wrought, your coffers fill,For your wrong deeds just punishment shall come,And dealt by Him Who vengeance calls His own.