John Pierpont

* * *

Come all ye young teetotallers—
Come with us while we go
To fight with old king Alcohol,
A brave and mortal foe.
Then rouse, my lads, then rouse ye up;
Come forward every one;
We'll banish far the poison cup,
Nor stop till vict'ry's won.

A hard old enemy is he,
And brave and bold in fight;
But labor hard—we'll soon be free,
For God defends the right.
Then rouse, my lads, &c.

But though he may be brave and bold,
We'll show what we can do;
We're not the temp'rance men of old—
We go for something new.
Then rouse, my lads, &c.

"We touch not, taste not, handle not,"
What can intoxicate;
We'll live and die without a blot,
And shun the drunkard's fate.
Then rouse, my lads, &c.

Grog men may laugh, and joke, and sneer,
They laugh and tremble too;
For when the boys take hold, they fear
There's something then to do.
Then rouse, my lads, &c.

And now, my boys, since we've begun,
The cause must never fall;
Let each man bring some other one,
And soon we'll have them all.
Then rouse, my lads, &c.