A woman sat by a new-made grave,
Bewailing her slaughtered dead--
Weep! weep! weep!
Tears of remorseful pain;
The sorrow that sorrows without a hope,
Is poured forth above the slain.

Drink! drink! drink!
It slayeth on every side,
Till the blue-eyed baby is fatherless,
And a desolate widow the bride.
O for a gleam of light
On the home, on the friendly hand,
That pours in kindness the burning draught
That maketh a desolate land.

Drink! drink! drink!
The horse-leech ever craves,
There are empty chairs in the desolate home,
And the earth swells with new-made graves.
Cellar, saloon, and bar,
Bar, cellar, saloon,
And a wasted life, and a hopeless death,
Is the tempted victim's doom

O men with the friendly treat!
O women with New Year's wine!
It is not liquor you're pouring out,
But your child's blood and mine,
Drink! drink! drink!