Classic Poem

“Five cents a glass!” Does anyone think
That this is really the price of a drink?
“Five cents a glass,” I hear you say,
“Why, that isn't very much to pay.”
Ah, no, indeed; 'tis a very small sum
You are passing over with finger and thumb;
And if that were all that you gave away
It wouldn't be very much to pay.

The price of a drink! Let him decide
Who has lost his courage and lost his pride,
And lies a groveling heap of clay
Not far removed from a beast today.

The price of a drink! Let that one tell
Who sleeps tonight in a murderer's cell,
And feels within him the fires of hell.
Honor and virtue, love and truth,
All the glory and pride of youth,
Hopes of manhood, the wreath of fame,
High endeavor and noble aim,
These are treasures thrown away,
As the price of a drink, from day to day.

“Five cents a glass!” How Satan laughed
As over the bar the young man quaffed
The beaded liquor, for the demon knew
The terrible work that drink would do;
And before morning the victim lay
With his life-blood ebbing swiftly away.
And that was the price he paid, alas!
For the pleasure of taking a social glass.

The price of a drink! If you want to know
What some are willing to pay for it, go
Through that wretched tenement, over there
With dingy window and broken stair;
Where foul disease like a vampire crawls
With outstretched wings o'er the moldy walls.
There poverty dwells with her hungry brood,
Wild-eyed as demons, for lack of food;
There violence deals its cruel blow;
And innocent ones are thus accursed
To pay the price of another's thirst.

“Five cents a glass!” Oh, if that were all
The sacrifice would, indeed, be small!
But the money's worth is the least amount
We pay, and whoever will keep account,
Will learn the terrible waste and blight
That follows the ruinous appetite.
“Five cents a glass!” Does anyone think
That is really the price of a drink.