POEM: A SONG

A SONG
(By Request)
When the cold scales of selfishness fall from our eyes,
And the wellsprings of love in our hearts shall arise,
We then may be able, with both heart and hand,
To aid the good cause of the Temperance Band.
 
Though the labor is hard, ‘tis a labor of love,
And as such must be blest by our Father above,
For His name it is love; let His followers prove
They’ve a mind to this work – this blest labor of love.
 
The, let’s up, and by doing, hurl Self from its throne,
And place in its stead love of Jesus alone;
Then love for His creatures will come in the wake,
When we crucify Self for this noble work’s sake.
 
Now the harvest is great, and the laborers few;
Though much has been done, yet there’s much more to do;
So let’s gird our loins, and with sickle in hand,
Join our hardworking brothers – the Temperance Band.
 
To that Maelstrom, Intemperance, men hurry on;
Shall we calmly stand looking, and let them go down
Without ever as much as helping a hand
To lift them from out of this dark drifting sand?
 
Press onward, regardless of Self, let the truth
Our “Palladium” be, yes, the spirit of truth;
That when strife is all o’er, and all danger is braved,
We may hear the glad cry – many souls have been saved.
(Illawarra Mercury, June 7, 1884)
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19th-century Australian writer, pioneer, teacher. The site of the rambling research of Mr Knox's offsider.

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