LIES.

If aught on earth my soul can fire, 'Tis the deception of a liar Who with soft smoothness of the tongue, Has promises and pledges strung To suit all needs that come to hand, To serve the purpose Satan planned. Satan himself, I think, would shun The presence of that artful one, Who violates truth's sacred laws, Regardless of the end or cause, But deems it strategy to live For the sole purpose to deceive. If hell has any corner where Vile culprits may be doomed to share The merits they richly deserve, It should be held in strict reserve For them whose flattery and art Are used to kill a trusting heart. Let me abhor, loathe, and despise The author of those fiendish lies, Who would for pleasure, greed, or power, The confidence of youth devour, And blight the soul with foul distrust, Or trample honor in the dust. No sting of pain can e'er atone, No purging fire was ever known For cleansing of a heart defiled By falsehood; though it may be styled In diction, affability, It poisons like the upas tree. Beware the tongue that will deceive, At last 'twill cause your soul to grieve Though smooth its accents now may be, Its motive power is treachery, Its fruits are laden with disease, Although its tones may often please. Dissimulation's oily tongue Will grace Simplicity, among Her unsuspecting, trustful throng, That he may do her greater wrong, And covertly defile the pure, Some envied purpose to secure.