" HORRIBLE LONDON'S" CURSE

Feilding Star, Volume V, Issue 55, 10 May 1884, Page 3

" HORRIBLE LONDON'S" CURSE

(advertisement.) " Horrible London," you call it? But what is the horrible thing That makes it a " horrible London ?" What is the darkening wing, Casting a shade and a shadow Where sunshine and singing might ring? Only the cry of a pauper, Curled between two coarse bags, Breathing his soul in anguish, As slowly life's last hour drags : Lifting his head he murmurs, "Drink has reduced me to rags." Only the cry of a woman, Beaten, and bruised, and sore, As she shrieks in the grip of a tyrant, i As oft she has shrieked before; : Furniture shattered, heart bruken, — Drink rolled the curse to that door. Only the cry of the children, Huddled together and cold, By a fireless grate in a garrett, Where spiders and mice are bold : A horrible cry and a bitter, As the same weary story is told. Only the cry of a baby, As it clings to a breast that is dry ; Then nestles itself in a bosom Unmoved by its pitiful cry : But its hunger and crying are over, In the drunkard's strauire arms it must die. " Horrible London," you call it ? This is the horrible thing. Haunting the horrible dwellings, This in the curse we must fling Far from the home and the city, Ere we prosperity bring. Still license the horrible demon, And horrible London must sink Yet lower, and deeper, and darker, Hurled o'er a horrible brink ; This is the horrible spirit Of horrible London — Drink. Oh that the cry, the bitter. The terrible cry might rise Till the wail of despairing anguish Ascends to the lofty skies ; And a hand Almighty strangles The Drink-demon till he dies. But, brother, you know, while waiting, We can each our little do, And God will not send an angel To do what he leaves with you. I have banished the I 'rink-demon, brother, I want you to banish him too. — Temperance Herald.