Page:Poems for the Sea.djvu/119

Rh

Have we any room to doubt it, When its evil fruits we see? Messmates! let us do without it, Break its thraldom and be free.

Hath not life enough of sorrow, Sickness, anguish, and decay, That we needs must madly borrow Thorns to plant its shortening way?

There's a draught that heaven distilleth, Pure as crystal from the skies, Freely, whosoever willeth, May partake it, and be wise.