Your ShelfYour Projects

Something to You

10%

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Apr 9, 1912

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 39, No. 15.

Read the full edition

Something to You

'Tis nothing to me,' the beauty said, With a careless toss of her pretty head; "The man is weak if he can't refrain From the cup you say is fraught with pain."
It was something when, in after-years, Her eyes were drenched with burning tears, And she watched in lonely grief and dread, And startled to hear a staggering tread.
'Tis nothing to me," the mother said; "I have no fear that my boy will tread In the downward path of sin and shame, And crush my heart and darken his name."
It was something to her when her only son From the path of right was early won, And madly cast in the flowing bowl A ruined body, and sin-wrecked soul.
'Tis nothing to me," the merchant said, As over his ledger he bent his head; "I am busy to-day with tare and tret, I have no time for fume and fret."
It was something to him when over the wire A message came from a funeral pyre; A drunken conductor had wrecked a train, And his wife and child were among the slain.
'Tis nothing to me," the voter said; "The party's loss is my only dread." Then he gave his vote to the liquor trade, Tho hearts were crushed and drunkards made.
It was something to him in after-life; His daughter became a drunkard's wife, And her hungry children cried for bread, And trembled to hear their father's tread.
It is something for us to idly sleep, While cohorts of death their vigils keep, To gather the young and thoughtless in, And grind in our midst a grist of sin. — Selected.