Mart Strong was a
noted joint-keeper. He and his son, Frank, were both bad drinking characters,
and would sell it every chance they got. Mart had a dive and I
was in several times to talk to him, and he would try to flatter me and
turn things into a joke. When he saw I did not listen to such talk,
treated me very rude. One Saturday I saw quite a number of men
into his place, and I went in also. Saloons in Kansas generally have a
front room to enter as a precaution, then a back room where the bar is.
I didn't get farther than the front, for Mart came hastily, taking me by the
shoulders and said: "Get out of here, you crazy woman." I was singing
this song:
Who hath sorrow? Who hath Woe?
They who dare not answer no;
They whose feet to sin incline,
While they tarry at the wine.
CHORUS:
They who tarry at the wine cup
They who tarry at the wine cup.
They who tarry at the wine cup.
Who hath babblings, who hath strife?
He who leads a drunkard's life;
He whose loved ones weep and pine,
While he tarries at the wine.
Who hath wounds without a cause?
He who breaks God's holy laws;
He who scorns the Lord divine,
While he tarries at the wine.
Who hath redness at the eyes?
Who brings poverty and sighs?
Unto homes almost divine,
While he tarries at the wine?
Touch not, taste not, handle not:
Drink will make the dark, dark blot,
Like an adder it will sting,
And at last to ruin bring,
They who tarry at the drink.
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