If, perchance, God's only Son
Would say, "Whosoever will may come--"
But we hasten to draw a veil over the scene,
With his God we leave him--only sixteen,--
Only sixteen.
Rumseller, come view the work you have wrought!!
Witness the suffering and pain you have brought
To the poor boy's friends. They loved him well,
And yet you dared the vile beverage to sell
That beclouded his brain, did his reason dethrone,
And left him to die out there all alone.
What, if 'twere _your_ son, instead of another?
What if your wife were that poor boy's mother,--
And he only sixteen?
Ye freeholders, who signed the petition to grant
The license to sell, do you think you will want
That record to meet in that last great day,
When heaven and earth shall have passed away.
When the elements, melting with fervent heat,
Shall proclaim the triumph of RIGHT complete?
Will you wish to have his blood on your hand.
When before the great throne you each shall stand,--
And he only sixteen?
Christian men! rouse ye to stand for the right,
To action and duty; into the light
Come with your banners, inscribed, "Death to rum!"
Let your conscience speak.
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