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lifting toward heaven our fellow-men? We have got to rely on appeals and addresses made to the heart of this nation, to the conscience of the people and the reason of the country. We have got to train up our children in the cause from inlancy. We must teach it in the schools and everywhere by word, and above all by example; and it seems to me that Christian ministers, in this dark hour of our country, when they see so much intemperance, and what looks to some of us like a reaction, should make the voice of the pulpits of this land heard.
Members of Christian churches should remember that they have something to do in this cause. If any thing stands in the way of Christianity it is the drunkenness in our land. A word for temperance at this time is the strongest blow against the kingdom of Satan and for the cause of our Lord and Master. Suppose you have been disappointed. Suppose that many of your laws have failed. We know that we are right. We personally feel and see it. The evidence is around and about us that we cannot be mistaken in living total abstinence lives and recommending such a course to our neighbors.
When it costs something to stand by the temperance car.se, then is the hour to stand by it. If I could be heard to-day by the people of the land, by the patriotic young men of this country, full of life, vigor and hope, I would say that it is among the first, the highest, and the grandest duties, which the country, God, and the love of humanity impose, to work for the cause of total abstinence.
And there they sat, a popping corn,
John Styles as fat as any ox,
And there they sat and shelled the corn.
And talked of different kinds of care,
Then Susan she the popper shook,
Till both their faces grew as red
And then they shelled, aDd popped, and ate,
All kinds of fun a-poking,
And she laughed at his joking.
And still they popped, and still they ate—
And stirred the fire, and sprinkled salt,
The clock struck nine—the clock struck ten,
It struck eleven, and then struck twelve,
And John he ate, and Sue she thought—
The corn did pop and patter—
Why, Susan, what's the matter?"
Said she, " John Styles, it's one o'clock;
You'll die of indigestion;
Why don't you pop the question?"
Twas only at Llewellyn's board
The faithful Gelert fed; He watched, he served, he cheered his lord,
And sentineled his bed.
In sooth, he was a peerless hound,
The gift of royal John;
And all the chase rode on.
And now, as over rocks and dells
The gallant chidings rise,
With many mingled cries.
That day Llewellyn little loved
The chase of hart or hare;
For Gelert was not there.
Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied,
When, near the portal-seat, His truant Gelert he espied,
Bounding his lord to greet.
But when he gained his castle door,
Aghast the chieftain stood; The hound was smeared with gouts of gore,
His lips, his fangs ran blood!
Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise,
Unused such looks to meet:
And crouched and licked his feet.
Onward in haste Llewellyn passed—
And on went Gelert too—
Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view!
O'erturned his infant's bed he found,
With blood-stained covert rent; And all around the walls and ground
With recent blood besprent.
He called his child—no voice replied;
He searched—with terror wila; Blood! blood! he found on every side,
But nowhere found his child.
"Hell-hound! my child's by thee devoured!" The frantic father cried;
And to the hilt his vengeful sword
His suppliant, as to earth he fell,
No pity could impart;
Passed heavy o'er his heart.
Aroused by Gelert's dying yell,
What words the parent's joy could tell,
Concealed beneath a tumbled heap,
All glowing from his rosy sleep,
Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread-
Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead—
Ah, what was then Llewellyn's pain!
For now the truth was clear:
To save Llewellyn's heir.
Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe;
"Best of thy kind, adieu! The frantic deed which laid thee low,
This heart shall ever rue!"
And now a gallant tomb they raise,
And marbles storied with his praise,
There never could the spearman pass,
Or forester, unmoved;
Llewellyn's sorrow proved
And there he hung his horn and spear;
And, oft as evening fell,
Poor Gelert's dying yell!
And till great Snowdon's rocks grow old,
The consecrated spot shall hold
Ye friends of moderation,
Gives daily demonstration;