This text comes from The Bennachie Budget, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
Why condemn the self-concealer,
Leaving but an Ox to stray?
And applaud the spirit-dealer,
Luring souls to Satan’s sway?
If a brother’s Son should wander
From the path of life and truth,
Should you like a cold by-stander,
For your profit blight his youth?
Know you not, the faithful Spirit
Solemn warning all hath given,
That no drunkard can inherit
Everlasting life in heaven?
What, you force not your October,
Or Devanku down his throat!
What, not bound to keep him sober,
Or refuse his hindmost groat!
Ah, the man who slew his brother
Asked—“Must I my brother keep?"
Gain may conscience try to smother;
Vengeance will not always sleep!
Can you love to brethren cherish,
While their reason you deprave?
Thro’ your drink shall sinners perish,
Whom their Friend has bled to save?
Sailors, thro’ the foaming billow,
Urge the life-boat to the wreck;
And refuse to press their pillow,
Till the last has left the deck;
But your light—like wreckers’ torches,
Luring ships to ruin’s rock—
Draws our sons, like moths, and scorches,
While their spoils increase your stock.
Love of money, like a canker,
Eats the llesh and gnaws the soul;
But can riches form an anchor,
Sure and fast when tempests roll?
No; the gold that tills your coffers,
Happiness nor honour brings;
What you net from drunken scoffers
May escape on eagles’ wings.
One day preachers ply their labours,
Stripping Satan of his spoil;
Six days long among your neighbours,
Strive you not to mar their foil?
Saturday brings drink and dances,
Smutty song and wanton sports;
Will the Sabbath’s calm advances
Draw your friends to Zion’s courts?
Bid the Farmer to the Miller
Bear the barley and the rye;
Soon would Brewer and Distiller
Find their bitter fountains dry.
Grateful to the gracious Giver,
Humbly yield to Mercy’s sway;
Slaves from chains of drink deliver,
Lead them all in freedom’s way.