Away The Bowl
Our grateful hearts with temperance burn,
Away, away the bowl,
From dram shops all, our steps we turn,
Away, away the bowl;
Farewell to rum and all its harms,
Farewell the wine-cup's boasted charms,
Away the bowl, away the bowl, away, away the bowl.
See how that staggering drunkard reels!
Away, away the bowl;
Alas, the misery he reveals,
Away, away the bowl;
His children grieve, his wife's in tears!
How sad his once bright home appears!
Away the bowl, away the bowl, away, away the bowl.
We drink no more, nor buy nor sell,
Away, away the bowl!
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poem by John Pierpont
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Farewell The Bowl
Farewell to the cup, we have tarried too long,
Where the juice of the grape adds its witch'ry to song.
And the thoughts that flow'd freely are sombre and dull,
Our brains become heavy, farewell to the bowl,
Farewell, farewell, farewell, farewell to the bowl.
Oh, tarry no longer where joy flies away,
The heart and the soul lose their richest array,
Where eye mocketh eye, as unmeaning they roll,
The tongue whispers folly-farewell to the bowl.
Oh, think, if the maiden, who smiles in thine eyes,
Once saw thy proud mind in this shameful disguise;
Her heart would reject thee, how sadly her soul
Would pity and leave thee-oh, flee from the bowl.
Oh think, e'er the moment of thinking is past,
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poem by John Pierpont
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Hymns For Ordination and Installation VII
'On earth be peace!'-O God, that word
To our ears comes not, as it came,
When by Judea's shepherds heard
From opening skies and lips of flame.
Yet 't is thy word, when mortal tongue
Makes it the burden of a hymn,
Not less than when, of old, it rung
From golden harps of cherubim.
What though heaven's gates no more expand,
And heavenly hosts their hymning cease!
On earth thine humbler servants stand,
In humbler temples, 'preaching peace.'
Peace to the passions, when they show
Resistance to thy wise control;
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poem by John Pierpont
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Temperance Hymn
God of our fathers! Thee we praise;
To-day, our grateful thanks ascend:
Accept these thanks-our cheerful lays
With organ's solemn chantings blend.
Thy grace the wretched drunkard found
Cast out, and weltering in his blood;
Now from his tongue doth praise resound-
He owes that praise to thee, O God!
Restored to virtue by thy hand,
The father, brother, son, arise;
From sin and wo reclaimed, they stand,
And swell thy praise with tearful eyes.
The mother, sister, daughter, too,
With tears of gratitude and praise,
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poem by John Pierpont
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Fill A Bumper of Water
Fill a bumper of water that's pure from the spring,
Bright sparkling and clear as the glass,
And with rapture the joyous emotions we'll sing,
Which enliven our hours as they pass
We'll spurn the rude mirth of the wine-bibber's bowl,
While our Abstinence pleasures exceed it,
And we give you the Pledge with our heart and our soul,
Here's success to the cause and God speed it,
God speed it-God speed it,
Here's success to the Pledge, and God speed it.
Surrounded by virtue, by beauty, and youth,
Dear woman we drink to thy charms;
If we pledge thee in water, we pledge thee in truth
And we take thee with joy to our arms.
Go look at our homes and observe the glad smile,
What welcome on earth can exceed it,
Where affection thus greets us our cares to beguile,
Then success to the Pledge, and God speed it,
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poem by John Pierpont
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Water!--Oh! Water For Me
Oh! water for me-bright water for me!
And wine for the tremulous debauchee!
It cooleth the brow, it cooleth the brain,
It maketh the faint one strong again;
It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea:
All freshness, like infant purity.
Oh water for me, bright water, for me!
Give wine, give wine to the debauchee!
Fill to the brim! fill, fill to the brim!
Let the flowing crystal kiss the rim:
For my hand is steady, my eye is true,
For I, like the flowers, drink nothing but dew.
Oh! water, bright water's a mine of wealth,
And the ores it yieldeth are vigour and health.
So water, pure water for me, for me!
And wine for the tremulous debauchee!
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poem by John Pierpont
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