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 Cold water on its healing wings Would put all foes to flight. No drop of aught that's good to drink Should in the land appear, But now—it makes my spirits sink— They've licensed cider and beer!

The deed is done—I plainly That we shall backwards go, And follow men like Agassiz, And men like Longfellow; And after Fiske our heads will frisk 'Till daylight doth appear.' Some fiend has brought our work to naught And licensed cider and beer!

The goodly time was coming fast When malt should be a sin;