The Signboard

I will paint you a sign, rumseller,          And hang it above your door;     A truer and better signboard          Than ever you had before.     I will paint with the skill of a master,          And many shall pause to see     This wonderful piece of painting,          So like the reality.     I will paint yourself, rumseller,          As you wait for that fair young boy,     Just in the morning of manhood,          A mother's pride and joy.     He has no thought of stopping,          But you greet him with a smile,     And you seem so blithe and friendly,          That he pauses to chat awhile.     I will paint you again, rumseller,          I will paint you as you stand,     With a foaming glass of liquor          Extended in your hand.     He wavers, but you urge him -          Drink, pledge me just this one!     And he takes the glass and drains it,          And the hellish work is done.     And next I will paint a drunkard -          Only a year has flown,     But into that loathsome creature          The fair young boy has grown.     The work was sure and rapid.          I will paint him as he lies     In a torpid, drunken slumber,          Under the wintry skies.     I will paint the form of the mother          As she kneels at her darling's side,     Her beautiful boy that was dearer          Than all the world beside.     I will paint the shape of a coffin,          Labelled with one word - "Lost"     I will paint all this, rumseller,          And will paint it free of cost.     The sin and the shame and the sorrow,          The crime and the want and the woe     That are born there in your workshop,          No hand can paint, you know.     But I'll paint you a sign, rumseller,          And many shall pause to view     This wonderful swinging signboard,          So terribly, fearfully true.