Our native land, on every hand, Is scourged by an enslaver, Whose blighting breath presages death And family ties doth sever. Ensnaring prey by night and day Through custom's fascination; Thus, thousands fall, both great and small By vile inebriation. CHORUS: Let us work on incessantly Our country to deliver; With hearts resolved on victory We'll crush the foe for ever. The Temperance plan, which leads the van Against the drink temptation, Will yet o'erthrow this direful foe And bless a sober nation. The people, then, will act as men Who health and comfort cherish; And, thus set free, rejoice to see The drinking system perish. The coming day, for which we pray, We'll toil with zeal to hasten; While earnest men, by tongue and pen, Persuade mankind to listen. Then, persevere, till it appear, By Temperance truth's diffusion, That, come what may, we'll win the day, And quench the drink delusion.
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