The Drunkard's Home Made Sweet Poem by John Pierpont

The drunkard's home shall soon be sweet
If he will but abstain;
With needful comforts, all replete,
To soothe each minor pain.
The cheering wife and smiling child,
With cheeks of rosy hue,
And blue eyes beaming, fair and mild,
Shall youthful joys renew.


Oh, drunkard, poor deluded man,
Beguiled from virtue's way;
Thy callous heart, thy visage wan,
Thy hapless state betray.
Oh, come e're it shall be too late
To spring from sorrow's hold;
For thee the dearest blessings wait,
In water clear and cold,


Come, come, poor drunkard, come away
From gnawing wo and sin;
There is no time for thee to stay,
Haste, come poor drunkard, in.
The drunkard's home shall soon be sweet,
When he himself is freed;
With zeal and love his heart shall beat-
He'll say, 'I'm blest indeed.'