THE RUINED HOME.

Behold that house on Pleasant street, Just let us enter there; All arrangements so complete, Appropriate and fair. Music in Adjoining room So grateful to the ear; Fragrant flowers in fullest bloom And beauty doth appear. Choice books there on the table lie, Wisdom for great and small; The pantry with its full supply; There're pictures on the wall. The father comes at closing day, The mother greets with joy, The laughing children 'round him play He pets his toddling boy. Peace pervades that happy place, Where all is bright and free; Its loving inmates go and come, In sweetest harmony. Grief has blighted that fair bloom, The work of cursed rum, The fetid breath of the saloon Has to that dwelling come. A thump is heard against the door, The children flee away; They wish to see his face no more While whiskey rules the day. The faithful wife opens the door, The husband staggers in, He stumbles prostrate on the floor, Borne down by rum and gin. While helping him unto his bed— Oh! who could tell us why— He clenched his fist and struck her head And gave a blackened eye. His bank deposits slip away To the rumsellers till, Whose business is from day to day The drunkards' graves to fill Piano gone by sheriff's sale, The music hushed and still; The mother's sigh, the daughter's wail Now the apartments fill. The pictures gone from off the wall, The carpets from the floor, To meet necessity's stern call, Keep hunger from the door. The daughter's jewels all are gone Unto the broker's fled; Her choicest clothing one by one, To buy their daily bread. Vultures in human form await To make this maid their game Should hunger, want and cruel fate Crowd out all sense of shame. Oh! this horrid ghastly wound, The work of cursed rum; Oh! can a healing balm be foundation This side the world to come.