p. 12 | The Home Circle

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, Cal. · Dec 23, 1889

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 15, No. 49.

The Home Circle.

THE JUG OF WHISKY.

[The following poem, taken from the London Star, of June 12, 1792, shows that the contents of the whisky jug were known a hundred years ago.]

WITHIN these earthen walls confined The ruin lurks of humankind; More mischiefs here united dwell, And more diseases haunt this cell, Than ever plagued Egyptian flocks, Or ever cursed Pandora's box.

Within these prison walls repose The seeds of many a bloody nose, The chattering tongue, the horrid oath, The fist for fighting nothing loath, The nose with diamonds glowing red, The bloated eye, the broken head.

Forever fastened be this door! Confined within, a thousand more Destructive fiends of hateful shape, E'en now are planning an escape.

Here only by a cork controlled, And slender walls of earthen mould, In all the pomp of death, reside Revenge, that ne'er was satisfied; The trees that bear the deadly fruit Of maiming, murder, and dispute; Assault, that innocence assails; The images of gloomy jails; The giddy thought, on mischief bent; The evening hour in folly spent,— All these within this jug appear, And Jack, the hangman, in the rear!

Thrice-happy he who, early taught By nature, ne'er this poison sought; He, with the purling stream content, The beverage quaffs that nature meant; In reason's scale, his actions weighed, His spirits want no foreign aid, Long life is his, in vigor passed, Existence welcome to the last— A spring that never yet grew stale; Such virtue lies in Adam's ale.