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"DRUNKARD'S CHILD" SONGS

American folksongs span a very broad range of subjects, most of which can be further divided into distinct subgenres.

One especially frustrating folk subgenre consists of temperance songs that describe the sufferings of the children of alcoholics -- there were a surprising number of songs written on this theme, and most bear very similar titles. The following compilation of lyrics is presented in hopes of aiding positive identification.

Recurrent elements in these songs are stormy weather and mortality, and these can help distinguish songs with otherwise very similar themes. The symbols beside the titles translate as follows:

The collection below will probably never be complete, and we would welcome feedback regarding additional titles. Nearly all of these lyrics were transcribed from scans found at the Library of Congress's Music for the Nation site.

1. A DRUNKARD'S CHILD Ø +
Words and music by Andrew Jenkins and Jimmie Rodgers
Copyright 1930

My father is a drunkard, my mother, she is dead;
and I am just an orphan child, no place to lay my head;
all thru this world I wander, they drive me from their door,
some day I'll find a welcome on heaven's golden shore.

Now if to me you'll listen, I'll tell my story sad;
how drinking rum and gambling Hell has stole away my dad;
my mother is in heaven, where God and the angels smile;
and now I know she's watching her lonely orphan child.

We all were once so happy, and had a happy home;
till dad, he went to drinking rum, and then he gambled some;
he left my darling mother, she died of a broken heart;
and as I tell my story, I see your tear-drops start.

Don't weep for me and mother, altho' I know 'tis sad;
but try to get someone to cheer and save my poor lonely dad;
"I'm awful cold and hungry," she closed her eyes and sighed;
then those whe heard her story, knew the orphan child had died.

======

2. PRAYER OF THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD
Words by M. Paul, music by J. W. Lerman
Copyright 1885

Oh! Thou who did'st with pitying smile, look down on those like me;
with falt'ring lips and tearful eyes, I raise my pray'r to Thee,
while father at the rumshop stays, while mother weeps alone,
and little Charlie ever cries for bread and there is none,
and people look upon me so as something strange and wild,
when e'er I pass I hear them say, "there goes the drunkard's child."

Oh! Thou whose very look is love compassion take on me;
a drunken outcast, poor and vile, let not my father be,
But teach him, Lord, to dash aside the soul destroying chain
which binds him in the mad'ning drink, O may he soon abstain,
nor let his lips be once again with strong drink be defiled,
and then no more will men with scorn call me the drunkard's child.

While brother Charlie food will have and mother weep no more,
and father will be happy too, nor seek the rumshop door,
then we shall be each sabbath morn, within the House of Prayer,
to bless the mercy and the love which saved our hearts from care,
I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast this on me in kindness smiled
nor spurn'd the pray'r which came to Thee from me, a drunkard's child.

======

3. THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD +
Words by Mary A. Kronsbein, music by J. L. Feeney
Copyright 1882

My sight is growing dim, mother, I scarce can draw my breath;
My brow is damp and cold, mother, oh! tell me is this death?
What makes the room so dark, mother, your face I cannot see,
nor e'en the firelight's spark, mother!
All's very dark to me.

(chorus) Dying, mother, dying, mother, the angels on me smiled.
Do not weep, but kiss me, mother, I die, the drunkard's child.

I wish my father'd come, mother, I do no fear him now;
he'll never beat me more, mother, for I am dying now.
Oh, sing to me a hymn, mother, of the Savior's life below,
and of the blessed land, mother, where sorrow none may know.

(chorus)

You say it will be home, mother, oh then, why do you weep?
Why do you sob and moan, mother, I'm only going to sleep.
You say there is no death, mother, in yonder home so fair;
nor sickness, sin or pain, mother, shall ever enter there.

(chorus)

And now kiss me good night, mother, and when father doth come,
tell him that I will wake, mother, in a yonder better home.
The mother knelt in anguish oh! beside the snow-white bed,
for there past all pain and sorrow, the drunkard's child lay dead.

(chorus)

======

4a. THE DRUNKARD'S LONE CHILD Ø
Words and music by Mrs. Ruth Young
Copyright 1880

I'm alone, all alone, my friends all have fled,
my father's a drunkard, my mother is dead;
I'm a poor little girl, I wander and weep
for the voice of my mother to sing me to sleep.
She sleeps on the hill, in a bed made of clay,
how cold it did seem to lay mother away,
she's gone with the angels, and none do I see
so dear as the face of my mother to me.

(chorus) I'm a little lone girl, in this cold world so wild,
God look down and pity the drunkard's lone child;
look down and pity, oh! soon come to me,
take me to dwell with my mother and Thee.

'Tis spring-time on earth, the birds seem so glad,
I listen and wonder, my heart is so sad;
sweet flow'rs bloom around, the crowd wanders by,
but the form of my mother no longer is nigh.
Last night in my dreams she seemed to draw near.
She pressed me as fondly as when she was here.
She smiled on me sweetly, and fondled my brow,
and whispered, "sleep on, I am watching you now."

(chorus)

---

(this interesting variation begins with the first verse and chorus
of song 4a, then switches to verses II and III of song 13a, with very
subtle rephrasing.)

4b. THE DRUNKARD'S LONE CHILDØ
from: Spaeth, Sigmund. Weep some more, my lady.
Doubleday, 1927, pp. 191-192.

I'm alone, all alone, my friends all have fled,
my father's a drunkard, my mother is dead;
I'm a poor little girl, I wander and weep
for the voice of my mother to sing me to sleep.
She sleeps on the hill, in a bed made of clay,
how cold it did seem to lay mother away,
she's gone with the angels, and none do I see
so dear as the face of my mother to me.

(chorus) I'm a little lone girl, in this cold world so wild,
God look down and pity the drunkard's lone child;
look down and pity, oh! soon come to me,
take me to dwell with my mother and Thee.

We were so happy till Father drank rum,
Then all our sorrow and trouble begun;
mother grew paler, and wept every day,
baby and I were too hungry to play.
Slowly they faded, and one summer's night,
found their sweet faces all silent and white;
then with big tears slowly dropping I said:
"Father's a drunkard, and mother is dead!"

(chorus)

Oh, if some temperance workers could find
poor wretched father and speak very kind,
if they could stop him from drinking, why then
I would feel very happy again.
Is it too late? Men of temperance, please try,
For poor little Bessie will soon starve and die.
All the day long I've been begging for bread,
"Father's a drunkard, and mother is dead!"

(chorus)

======

5. I'M ONLY A POOR DRUNKARD'S BOY Ø ± D
Words and music by Ward Sprague
Copyright 1879

A poor drunkard's boy, no friends and no home.
Dear mother is laid in the grave.
She quietly rests where soft zephyrs float.
Where willows their low branches wave;
a poor ragged child, I wander alone.
I beg for my bread thro' the day;
I sleep in the street,
a little damp straw the bed upon which I must lay.

(chorus) I see happy children around me all day,
their fathers beaming with joy.
For me there's no pleasure, how sad is my lot,
I'm only a poor drunkard's boy.

Until he drank rum dear father was kind
to mother, and sister and me;
he gave us a kiss and Katie and I
climbed up to our place on his knee;
no happier hearts on earth, but alas!
The tempter came in to destroy,
the demon of drink was wrecked our bright home,
I'm only a poor drunkard's boy.

(chorus)

An officer took dear father away
to prison, for murder, I'm told,
And Katie now sleeps in her little grave,
she died of starvation and cold.
How sad is my life, alone in the world,
no bright gleam of sunshine or joy;
my young heart is crushed with this bitter thought,
I'm only a poor drunkard's boy.

(chorus)

Oh, why did men sell my dear father rum,
until he was reckless and wild.
And put mother dear and Kate in the grave,
and make me a poor, homeless child.
Oh fathers, awake! to beat back this foe.
Your mightiest efforts employ,
ere you fall yourself, your home a sad wreck.
And your child a poor drunkard's boy.

(chorus)

======

6. THE DRUNKARD'S OUTCAST CHILD Ø + S
Arranged by Geo. P. Wright
Copyright 1876

A little child stood moaning in the hour of midnight lone,
no human ear was list'ning to the faintly wailing tone,
the cold keen blast of winter, with dismal wail swept by,
the blinding snow fell quickly from a darkly lowring sky.

(chorus) Papa, papa, I'm freezing in the storm and darkness here,
why do you leave me all alone, the night so dark and drear.
My little limbs are stiff'ning and I may not see light,
Why can I not come home to thee, O shield your child to night.

O desolate and wretched was the drunkard's outcast child,
driv'n forth amid the horrors of that night of tempest wild;
The babe so fondly cherish'd, once neath a parents eye,
now laid her down in anguish midst the drifting snow to die.

(chorus)

Papa, papa, she murmured the night's so dark and drear,
I'm freezing, oh, I'm freezing, in the storm and darkness here,
my naked feet are stiff'ning, and little hands grow numb.
Papa can I not come to thee, and warm myself at home.

(chorus)

Mama, Mama, more wildly now the little suff'rer cried,
forgetting in her anguish, her stricken mother died.
Oh, take me to your bosom, and warm me on your breast
then lay me down and kiss me in my little bed to rest.

(chorus)

Poor child the sleep that gather'd thy stiff'ning eye-lids o'er,
will know no weary wak'ning, to a life of anguish more,
sleep on the snow may gather, on thy cold and pulseless form,
thou'rt resting, calmly resting, in the wild dark midnight storm.

(final chorus) No more, no more the cry is heard,
above the piercing gale, the tempest dark and wild,
was found at last in death's embrace
the drunkard's lifeless child.

======

7. OUT IN THE SNOW; or THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD S
Will S. Hays
Copyright 1874

Father, please, don't drive me out in the street,
there among strangers no pity to meet;
see how poor mother is weeping, I pray,
and father, for her sake, don't drive me away.
You never speak kindly, your looks are so wild.
Oh, smile as you used to upon your poor child;
dear father, have pity, don't tell me to go
out in the streets tonight, out in the snow.

(chorus) Ragged and hungry, alone in the street,
walking about in the cold and the sleet;
wild is the tempest, I've nowhere to go;
what will become of me, out in the snow?

Drink no more, father, look up in my face,
blushing for shame at the sin and disgrace;
why are you always so cruel and wild?
Have you no love for your poor wife and child?
Our home is so dreary, O! father, just think.
You gave your last penny for something to drink;
and now, in my hunger, you force me to go
begging for help tonight, out in the snow.

(chorus)

Cease to abuse me, I'll do as you say.
But first let me kneel by my mother and pray;
don't strike me, I'll go, with a heart fill'd with pain!
I feel that I never shall see you again.
O! let me kiss mother, heart-broken and lone;
may heaven have pity on her when I am gone.
If I die in the streets, who one tear will bestow
on the poor wanderer, out in the snow?

(chorus)

======

8. WHO WILL HELP THE DRUNKARD'S CHILDREN? O
by James E. Stewart
Copyright 1874

Gentle mother now is dying,
soon she'll close her loving eyes,
angels wail to bear her gently,
to the home beyond the skies;
kiss her lips, for soon she'll leave us.
Mother clasp me to your breast,
as you did in days of childhood,
when you sang your child to rest.

(chorus) Gentle mother now is dying,
soon she'll close her loving eyes;
who will help the drunkard's children
when she dwells beyond the skies.

Gentle mother now is dying,
soon we'll miss the truest love,
and we'll miss the the voice so loving,
when her spirit's flown above,
father lingers at the tarvern,
where his footsteps ever stray,
who will help the drunkard's children,
when they've taken her away.

(chorus)

Gentle mother now is dying,
and she tells us not to weep,
she will watch o'er and protect us,
thro' the night when we're asleep;
darling mother, guide our footsteps,
be with us from day to day,
Father help the drunkard's children,
when our mother's pass'd away.

(chorus)

======

9. THE DRUNKARD'S DAUGHTER + S
Words by G. W. Bungay, music by J. E. Magruder
Copyright 1872

Out on the street with naked feet,
I saw the drunkard's little daughter;
her tatter'd shawl was thin and small,
she little knew; for no one taught her.
Her skin was fair, her auburn hair
was down about her pretty forehead.
Her sad white face bore sorrow's trace,
and want and woe that were not borrow'd.

Heart-broken child, she seldom smiled,
for hope pronounced her no bright morrow.
Or if its light flashed on her night
then up came darker clouds of sorrow.
She softly said, "we have no bread,
no wood to keep the fire burning!"
The child was ill, the wind so chill,
her thin cold blood to ice was turning.

Lone fled that night, and then the light
of rusty day in beauty shining,
set dome and spire and roof on fire
and shone on one beyond repining;
asleep alone as cold as stone,
where no dear parent ever sought her,
in winding sheet of snow and sleet,
was found the drunkard's lifeless daughter.

======

10. THE POOR DRUNKARD'S CHILD Ø S
Words by Geo. Lowell Austin, music by Charles A. White
Copyright 1871

How shrill is the tempest that rattles without,
and I am near frozen within,
The house is so lonesome, and dreary and dark,
for father's drinking again;
Oh, I am so sick, and so hungry and cold, while
the night winds are howling so wild,
there's no one to pity or say a kind word,
for I am the poor drunkard's child,
there's no one to pity or say a kind word,
for I am the poor drunkard's child.

(chorus) Oh, Father in heaven! this bitter cold night,
while the tempest is howling so wild,
look down in thy pity and cheer up the heart
of me, the poor drunkard's child.

One year tonight my poor mother died,
while father lay drunk on the floor,
I ne'er shall forget the kind words that she said,
should I live my life o'er and o'er.
"My poor child, your lot in this world will be hard,
but it cannot last a long while,
for think if my father would not drink again,
I'd not be a poor drunkard's child,
for think if my father would not drink again,
I'd not be a poor drunkard's child.

(chorus)

And so I've been praying and praying in vain,
I've suffered, heart-broken, almost;
when father comes home, it is always to scold,
but I love him tho' hope is lost.
Whenever I walk thro' the crowded streets,
by my rags and tatters defiled,
I think if my father would not drink again,
I'd not be a poor drunkard's child,
I think if my father would not drink again,
I'd not be a poor drunkard's child.

(chorus)

======

11. POOR CHILD OF THE DRUNKARD Ø
by W. F. Sherwin
Copyright 1871

Poor child of the drunkard, none careth for thee;
thy desolate dwelling no shelter can be;
friendless and forsaken, rude winds on thee blow,
left now to the wide world, say, where canst thou go?

(chorus) Come hither my darling, dwell ever with me;
here thou shalt be welcome, I'll cheer and comfort thee.

Low under the green sod thy mother now lies,
her prayers for thy safety God will not despise,
her words I remember, oft spoken in faith,
"My child, God will shield thee when I sleep in death".

(chorus)

Thro' years sad and dreary thy dear mother strove
with habits inhuman from him who should love;
life brought her but sorrow, death brought a rich gain,
where grief never cometh her spirit doth reign.

(chorus)

Thy sad, thoughtless father, how fallen is he;
may God in his mercy the drunkard set free,
friendless and forsaken, rude winds on thee blow;
left now to the wide world, say, where canst thou go?

(chorus)

======

12. THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD
Words and music by Mrs. E. A. Parkhurst
Copyright 1870

You ask me why so oft, father, the tear rolls down my cheek,
and think it strange that I should own a grief I dare not speak;
but O, my soul is very sad. My brain is almost wild;
it breaks my heart, to think that I am call'd a drunkard's child.

(chorus) But O, my soul is very sad, my brain is almost wild;
it breaks my heart, to think that I am call'd a drunkard's child.

My playmates shun me now, father, or pass me by with scorn,
because my dress is ragged and my shoes are old and torn;
and if I heed them not, "there goes the drunkard's girl," they cry;
Oh then, how much I wish that God would only let me die.

(chorus)

You used to love me once, father, and we had bread to eat;
mamma and I were warmly clad, and life seem'd very sweet
you never spoke unkindly then, or dealt the angry blow;
Oh father dear, 'tis sad to think that rum hath chang'd you so.

(chorus)

Do not be angry now, father, because I tell you this,
but let me feel upon my brow, once more thy loving kiss;
and promise me, those lips no more, with drink shall be defil'd,
that, from a life of want and woe, thou'll save thy weeping child.

(chorus)

======

13a. FATHER'S A DRUNKARD, AND MOTHER IS DEAD Ø ± S
Words by "Stella" (of Washington), music by Mrs. E. A. Parkhurst
Copyright unknown

Out in the gloomy night, sadly I roam,
I have no mother, no pleasant home;
nobody cares for me, no one would cry
even if poor little Bessie should die.
Barefoot and tired, I've wander'd all day
asking for work but I'm too small they say;
On the damp ground I must now lay my head
"Father's a drunkard, and mother is dead!"

(chorus) Mother, oh! why did you leave me alone,
with no one to love me, no friends and no home?
Dark is the night, and the storm rages wild,
God pity Bessie, the drunkard's lone child!

We were so happy till Father drank rum,
Then all our sorrow and trouble begun;
mother grew paler, and wept every day,
baby and I were too hungry to play.
Slowly they faded, and one summer's night,
found their dear faces all silent and white;
then with big tears slowly dropping I said:
"Father's a drunkard, and mother is dead!"

(chorus)

Oh! if the "temp'rance men" only could find
poor, wretched father, and talk very kind,
if they could stop him from drinking why, then
I should be so very happy again!
Is it too late? "men of temp'rance" please try,
or poor little Bessie may soon starve and die.
All the day long I've been begging for bread,
"Father's a drunkard, and mother is dead!"

(chorus)

---

(the following is a slight Utah folk variation)

13b. THE DRUNKARD'S CHILDØ ± S
from: Hubbard, Lester. Ballad's and songs from Utah.
University of Utah Press, 1961, pp. 200-201.

Out in this dreary world sadly I roam;
I have no mother, no friend and no home.
No one would pity me, no one would cry,
even if poor little Bessie should die.

Barefoot and tired I've wandered all day,
asking for work, but I'm too small, they say.
On the damp ground I must now lay my head.
Father's a drunkard and mother is dead.

Mother, why did you leave me alone,
with no one to love me, no friends and no home?
Dark is the night and the storm rages wild;
God, pity Bessie, the drunkard's lone child.

We were so happy till father drank rum;
then all our sorrow and trouble begun.
Mother grew pale and she wept ev'ry day.
Baby and I were too hungry to play.

Slowly they pined till one summer night
I saw their sweet faces all silent and white.
Then with large tears dropping slowly I said,
"Father's a drunkard and mother is dead."

Oh, if just some temperance men could only find
poor wretched father and speak very kind.
If they could stop him from drinking, why then
I would feel very happy again.

Is it too late? Men of temperance, please try,
or poor little Bessie must soon starve and die.
On the damp ground I must now lay my head.
Father is a drunkard and mother is dead.

---

(the following is yet another variation, with a different chorus)

13c. LITTLE BESSIE Ø ± S
By J. M. Barringer
Copyright 1876

Out in the gloomy night sadly I roam;
I have no mother dear, no pleasant home,
no one now cares for me, no one would cry;
even if poor little Bessie should die,
weary and tired I've been wand'ring all day;
asking for work but I'm too small they say,
all the day long I've been begging for bread,
"father's a drunkard and mother is dead."

(chorus) What though the rain and the pityless sleet,
beat on my head by the dark river street,
Angels will bear me tonight should I die.
Up to their beautiful Eden on high.

We were so happy 'till father drank rum;
then all our sorrow and trouble begun,
mother grew pale and wept every day,
baby and I were too hungry to play,
slowly they faded 'till one summer night,
found their dead faces all silent and white,
then with big tears, slowly dropping I said,
"father's a drunkard and mother is dead."

(chorus)

Oh! if the temp'rance men only could find,
poor wretched father and talk to him kind,
oh, if they would stop him from drinking, then,
I should be so very happy again,
is it too late temp'rance men please to try,
or poor little Bessie must soon starve and die,
on the damp ground I must now lay my head,
"father's a drunkard, and mother is dead."

(chorus)

======

14. THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD Ø +
A Kentucky folk song, from: Roberts, Leonard, et al.
In the pine: selected Kentucky folksongs.
Pikeville College Press, 1978, pp. 183-184.

In an old dusty attic of a tenament house,
I happened to wander one day;
and there on the rafters midst shavings and chips
a drunkard's poor little boy lay.

Why are you lying up here in the cold;
what makes you lie on this hard bed?
"My father's a drunkard and he beat me today
my darling old mother is dead.

I'm hiding from father and please sir don't tell,
he beat me because I would not steal
he said he would kill me the next time I failed,
and I'm so afraid sir he will.

"I'm leaving you here, son," I sadly replied,
"but I will be back right away."
But when I returned to the attic I found
that Jesus had been there that day.

The chips and the shavings were there as before,
the little boy lay on his bed,
with tears on his cheeks and his hands by his side,
the poor little fellow was dead.

A picture of mother lay close to his heart,
a faint little note by his head,
as I opened the paper my eyes filled with tears,
for these were the words that I read:

"I'm riding with Jesus across the divide,
with dear mother forever I'll dwell,
and thank you dear mister for your kindness to me
and now it's all right if you tell."

======

15. DEAR FATHER DON'T DRINK ANY MORE ± S
Words by Mr. M. A. Kidder, music by William H. Bently
Copyright 1870

Dear father, come, do not go out to night,
'tis stormy and rains as you see,
the table is spread, the tea is poured out,
sit down between mother and me;
then, dear father, although it in torrents may rain,
we will close up each window and door,
how happy we'd be, if you only stay home,
O! father, don't drink any more...

(chorus) Come father, cheer up, don't drink any more,
please father, don't drink any more...
And if you would make mother happy again,
dear father, don't drink any more.

Dear father, dear father, why are you so sad,
and why are the tears in your eyes!
Are you sorry that poor little sister is dead
and gone to her home in the skies!
Let your own cherished daughter side down by your side,
as she has many ev'nings before,
and if you would make mother happy again,
dear father, don't drink any more...

(chorus)

Dear father, O sing me that beautiful song,
that used to lull sister to sleep!
And would make darling mother so smiling and glad,
she lately does nothing but weep...
let me lean on your breast, as you sing home, sweet home,
as often you sung it before,
I'm sure it will seem like the old happy time,
dear father, don't drink any more...

(chorus)

======

16. DON'T SELL MY FATHER RUM
Words by Mrs. Nellie H. Bradley, music by W. M. Dressler
Copyright 1871

Don't sell him another drink, please, he's reeling already, you see;
and I fear, when he comes home tonight he'll beat my poor mother and me.
She's waiting in darkness and cold, and dreading to hear him come;
he treats us so bad when he's drunk, oh! don't sell him any more rum!
He treats us so bad when he's drunk, oh! don't sell him any more rum!

I heard mother praying last night, she thought I was quite sound asleep;
she prayed God her husband to save, his soul from temptation to keep.
She cried like her poor heart would break; so, trying to comfort her some,
I told her I'd beg you today not to sell father any more rum,
I told her I'd beg you today not to sell father any more rum.

Why don't you have something to sell, that will not make people so sad;
that will not make dear mothers grieve, and kind fathers cruel and bad?
Ah me! it is hard; I can see, you're angry because I have come,
forgive a poor, sad little girl, and don't sell her dear father rum!
Forgive a poor, sad little girl, and don't sell her dear father rum!

======

17. THE CHILD'S LAMENT ±
Words by Florence Brightly, music by Dr. Thos. H. Peacock
Copyright 1872

Why do you cry so much mamma?
Why are your hands so thin?
Why do you sigh and shiver so.
As if you'd done a sin?
Oh! ev'ry thing is now so changed,
and you have grown so sad;
there's nothing I can say or do,
that seems to make you glad.

(chorus) If your father were a temp'rance man,
he'd be so kind and mild,
and happiness again would find,
the drunkard's little child.

Then, too, when baby brother died,
and went beneath the sod,
why did you say that dreadful thing?
Mamma, you said, thank God.
We did not used to be so poor,
I once had pretty toys,
and papa stayed at home with us,
and shared in all our joys.

(chorus)

But now you're up so late at night,
and papa stays away.
He is away so very much,
sometimes all night, you say.
I am afraid of him, mamma,
he acts so strange and queer,
he buys me no more pretty things,
he never calls me "dear".

(chorus)

We have no fire, now mamma,
our clothes are thin and old,
my little shoes are quite worn out,
and I am very cold,
I've heard you tell of them'rance men,
and all the good they've done,
Oh! let us kneel and pray to God,
to make my father one.

(chorus)

Some day my child, you'll understand,
the sorrow drink can bring;
you'll think of all your childish griefs,
nor wonder at their sting,
and now, when you kneel down to night,
remember if you can,
to pray your father may become
a good, true temp'rance man.

(chorus)

======

18. PITY ME STRANGER S
Words by Frank A. Conly, music by Dr. Thos. H. Peacock
Copyright 1872

Oh! pity me stranger please haste not away,
but list to my tale, your pity I pray,
as out in the wild storm I wretchedly roam,
for father is drinking I dare not go home.

(duet) My sister and brother for aught that I know
may too like myself be out in the snow
please come to my home so wretched and drear
perhaps he'll not harm us if you are but near.

(chorus) I ask with a tear, please come to my home
cold, cold is the night friendless I roam,
If father a temperance man would become,
old joys would return to our now wretched home.

Yes father's been drinking and beat mother so,
I tried hard to save her the terrible blow;
but struck to the floor she there senseless lay,
for trying to save her he drove me away.
Then please sir, go with me I dare not go there,
and mother, so wretched deep sunk in despair;
and all is rum's doings, once happy were we,
and all laughed and sang in our innocent glee.

(chorus)

Our father was kind once and loved us so well,
each morn' he'd kiss us as he bid us farewell;
at night for his coming wee'd eagerly wait,
and kiss him a welcome as he opened the gate.
Dear mother was happy and Willie and May,
sweet flowers would gather for papa each day;
and they'd joyously cry dear papa is here
and leap in his arms we loved him so dear.

(chorus)

But two years or more some bad men they say,
took father from home and led him astray;
he then took to drinking a drunkard became,
we all try to love him, tho' deep sunk in shame.
Our house is near empty for everythings gone,
and each day more wretched and poor we have grown.
Dear mother grows weaker and paler each day,
her poor heart is breaking, come with me I pray.

(chorus)

======

19. O MOTHER DEAR MOTHER, WHEN FATHER COMES HOME
Words by Jane Gray Seaver, music by A. T. Gorham
Copyright 1872

Oh, mother, dear, mother, when father comes home,
do you think he will bring us some bread?
I'm not hungry myself, not a bit,
but you know that poor baby Louise must be fed
she is so very little to go without food,
and her face is so wan and so white!
Oh, mother, I fear that our darling will die
if she does no eat something to night!

(chorus) When father comes home will he pleasantly come?
Will there be joy or sorrow when father comes home?
When father comes home will he pleasantly come?
Will there be joy or sorrow when father comes home?

Oh, mother dear mother, when father comes home,
do you think he'll be pleasant and mild?
or will he reel in with a scowl on his face,
and his eyes looking bloodshot and wild?
This is Saturday night, he will get his week's pay,
oh, mother, I tremble to think
he may not bring it with him but stop on the way
and spend every penny for drink.

(chorus)

Oh, mother dear mother, when father comes home,
will he make us contented and glad?
Or must we shrink from him with dread in our hearts,
and go to bed silent and sad?
Hark, mother, he's coming, oh, let us thank God!
For his footstep is steady and light!
He brings with him sunshine instead of harsh looks,
and we shall be happy to night!

(chorus)

======

20. POOR LITTLE TIM
Words by E. F. Latta, music by A. J. Abbey
Copyright 1873

I know of a poor little outcast,
with clothing all shabby and thin:
the woe-begone child of a father,
who spends all his money for gin;
he has not a shoe nor a stocking;
his hat has but part of a rim;
yet people go by in a hurry;
who pities the "poor little Tim?"

(chorus) His face is the picture of sorrow,
his eyes are sunken and dim,
alas! for the child of the drunkard,
alas! for the "poor little Tim!"

I know of a poor little outcast,
half starv'd for a crust or a crumb;
the woe-begone child of a father,
addicted to brandy and rum;
the children he meets on the pavement,
all looking so tidy and prim;
shrink from him or jostle him rudely,
and hail him with "mean little Tim!"

(chorus)

I know of a poor little outcast,
with never a pleasure to cheer;
the woe-begone child of a father,
besotted by whiskey and beer;
some pause with a visage of pity,
as if to do something for him;
but pass to a pleasanter duty,
than caring for "poor little Tim!"

(chorus)

Thou! who art the friend of the friendless,
Thou! who wast so often reviled;
look down with an eye of compassion
upon the inebriate's child!
Oh, would that the earth had not another
so haggard in feature and limb!
Alas! the unfortunate children,
there's many a "poor little Tim!"

(chorus)

======

21. DON'T GO NEAR THE BAR-ROOM FATHER
Words and music by Jean Le Croix
Copyright 1874

Don't go near the bar-room, father,
'tis your little daughter's prayer,
yield no more to its temptations,
want and woe are lurking there.
We were once so very happy,
happy through the whole day long;
'till the tempter came and held you,
in his grasp so fierce and strong.

(chorus) Don't go near the bar-room, father,
'tis your little daughter's prayer;
yield no more to its temptations,
want and woe are lurking there.

Don't go near the bar-room, father,
from your evil comrades part,
see! my mother dear is weeping,
soon 'twill break her loving heart.
Once you loved us all so dearly,
not a harsh word did you speak;
and we knew naught else but kindness,
'till you did the wine cup seek.

(chorus)

Don't go near the bar-room, father,
taste not of the ruby wine,
hidden in its depths is misery,
do not kneel before its shrine.
Let the pleadings of your daughter,
help you now to pass it by;
and the prayers of dearest mother,
strengthen you again to try.

(chorus)

======

22. THE CHILD'S APPEAL
Words by Samuel N. Mitchell, music by Harry Leighton
Copyright 1874

Oh, mister, why don't you stop selling your rum
to poor, shiftless fathers like mine,
who spend in your shop the money they earn,
for poisonous whiskey and wine?
My mother has nothing that's decent to wear,
and sister is crying for bread,
while father is lying down drunk on the floor,
with bruises all over his head.

(chorus) Oh, mister, why don't you stop selling your rum
to poor shiftless fathers like mine,
who spend in your shop all the money they earn,
for poisonous whiskey and wine.

Oh, mister, the stuff that is sold at your bar
to those who are given to drink,
is certainly death to the ones that partake,
and thousands are now on the brink;
my father was happy when doing his work,
and making three dollars a day,
but now he is down in the world,
and he says your whiskey has led him astray.

(chorus)

Oh, mister, please don't give my pa any more
to make him so wretched and wild,
for when he's in liquor he's madden'd with rage,
threatens his wife and his child;
this life is a burden to mother and I,
when father is off on a spree,
so, mister, please don't let him have any more,
'twill be such a kindness to me.

(chorus)

======

23. DON'T GO OUT TO-NIGHT DEAR FATHER +
Words by M. E. Golding, music by W. L. Thompson
Copyright 1877

Don't go out tonight, dear father,
don't refuse this once I pray;
tell your comrades mama's dying,
soon her soul will pass away;
tell them too, of darling Willie,
him we all so much do love,
how is little form is drooping
soon to bloom again above.

(chorus) Don't go out tonight, dear father,
think, oh think, how sad 'twill be,
when angels come to take her,
papa won't be here to see.

Tell me that you love dear mama,
lying in that cold, cold room;
and not your comrades better,
cursing there in that saloon.
Oh dear father, do not leave us,
think, oh think how sad 'twill be,
when the angels come to take her,
you will not be here to see.

(chorus)

Morning found the little pleader
cold and helpless on the floor;
lying where he madly struck her,
on that chilly night before;
lying there with hands uplifed,
feebly utt'ring words of prayer,
heav'nly father, please forgive him,
reunite us all up there.

(chorus)

======

24. FATHER IS DRINKING AGAIN D S
Words and music by Bert G. Bickmore
Copyright 1879

I've been wand'ring all day in the cold and the wet,
to try my poor father to see;
he's been gone since last night, and mother's been told
in the bar-room unconscious is he;
she sent me to find him, and bring him to her,
all alone in the cold and the rain;
oh, God in thy mercy, come help the poor child,
whose fahter is drinking again.

(chorus) O, why did he leave us last night all alone,
why from strong drink he will not refrain?
and with us be cheerful and happy at home,
and not be a drunkard again.

He promised he never would drink any more,
but soon from the path was beguiled
but he's fallen again, oh, it makes my heart ache,
to think I'm a poor drunkard's child;
when my playmates I meet, they all view me with scorn,
I see for compassion in vain;
as a begger from all of their doors I am turned,
for father is drinking again.

(chorus)

All day in the streets she had search'd, but in vain,
until shades of evening had fell;
and now in despair she homeward had turned,
of her failure her mother to tell;
and there by the window they watched all night long,
for the coming of him loved so dear;
but his footsteps they never will hear any more,
for he's left them to mourn for him here.

(chorus)

======

25. DON'T SELL MY DEAR FATHER RUM
By C. Ross
Copyright 1883

Don't sell him another drink, please,
he's reeling already, you see,
I fear when he comes home tonight,
he'll beat my poor mother and me;
she's waiting in darkness and cold,
and dreading to hear him come,
he beats us so bad when he's drunk,
oh, don't sell him any more rum!

I heard mother praying last night,
she thought I was quite sound asleep;
she pray'd God her husband to save,
his soul from temptation to keep;
she cried like her poor heart would break,
so thinking to comfort her some,
I told her I'd beg you today,
not to sell my poor, dear father rum.

Why don't you keep something to sell,
that will not make people so sad?
That will not make dear mothers grieve,
and kind fathers cruel and bad?
Ah, me! it is hard I can see,
you're angry because I have come,
forgive a poor, sad little girl,
and please don't sell her dear father rum.

======

26. PLEASE SELL NO MORE DRINK TO MY FATHER S
Words by Mr. Frank B. Pratt, music by C. A. White
Copyright 1885

Please sir, will you listen a moment
I've something important to say
my mother has sent you a message
receive it in kindness I pray
'tis of father, poor father, I'm speaking
you know him he's call'd ragged Gore
but we love him and hope we may save him
if you'll promise to sell him no more

(chorus) Please sell no more drink to my father
it makes him so strange and so wild
heed the prayer of my heart-broken mother
and pity the poor drunkard's child

My father came home yester even
reeled home thro' the mud and the rain
he upset the lamp on the table
and struck my sick mother again
then all of the hours till morning
he lay on the cold kitchen floor
and this morning he's sick and he's sorry
oh, promise to sell him no more

(chorus)

When sober he loves us so dearly
no father is kinder than he
he wishes so much to stop drinking
but this is the trouble you see
he cannot withstand the temptation
he feels when he passes your door
as he goes to his work in the morning
please promise to sell him no more

(chorus)

======

27. FATHER, DEAR FATHER, COME HOME WITH ME NOW! +
By Henry C. Work
Copyright 1933

Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes one;
you said you were coming right home from the shop,
as soon as your day's work was done.
Our fire has gone out, our house is all dark,
and mother's been watching for you;
with poor brother Benny so sick in her arms,
without you, oh what can she do?
Come home! Come home! Come home!
Please, father, dear father, come home.

(chorus) Hear the sweet voice of our own little child,
as she tearfully begs you to come!
Oh, who could resist this most pitiful pray'r,
father, dear father, come home!

Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes two;
the night has grown colder and Benny is worse,
but he has been calling for you.
Indeed, he is worse, ma says he will die,
perhaps before morning shall dawn;
and this is the message she sent me to bring,
"Come quickly, or he will be gone."
Come home! Come home! Come home!
Please, father, dear father, come home.

(chorus)

Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes three;
the house is so lonely, the hours are so long,
for poor weeping mother and me.
Yes, we are alone, poor Benny is dead,
and gone with the angels of light;
and these were the very last words that he said,
"I want to kiss papa goodnight."
Come home! Come home! Come home!
Please, father, dear father, come home.

(chorus)

======

28. THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD + [poem]
By Frances Ellen Watkins
Copyright unknown

He stood beside his dying child,
With a dim and bloodshot eye;
They'd won him from the haunts of vice
To see his first-born die.
He came with a slow and staggering tread,
A vague, unmeaning stare,
And, reeling, clasped the clammy hand,
So deathly pale and fair.

In a dark and gloomy chamber,
Life ebbing fast away,
On a coarse and wretched pallet,
The dying sufferer lay:
A smile of recognition
Lit up the glazing eye;
"I'm very glad," it seemed to say,
"You've come to see me die."

That smile reached to his callous heart,
It sealed fountains stirred;
He tried to speak, but on his lips
Faltered and died each word.
And burning tears like rain
Poured down his bloated face,
Where guilt, remorse and shame
Had scathed, and left their trace.

"My father!" said the dying child,
(His voice was faint and low,)
"Oh! clasp me closely to your heart,
And kiss me ere I go.
Bright angels beckon me away,
To the holy city fair --
Oh! tell me, Father, ere I go,
Say, will you meet me there?"

He clasped him to his throbbing heart,
"I will! I will!" he said;
His pleading ceased -- the father held
His first-born and his dead!
The marble brow, with golden curls,
Lay lifeless on his breast;
Like sunbeams on the distant clouds
Which line the gorgeous west.

======

29. THE LITTLE BEGGAR BOY Ø
from: MacColl & Seeger. Travellers' Songs.
University of Tennessee Press, 1977.

I am a little beggar boy,
My mother she is gone,
My father is a drunkard,
He won't buy me no bread;

I goes up to the pantry
To get a slice of bread,
My daddy come behind me
And whip me up to bed.

I set beside the window,
To hear the organ play,
God bless my dear old mommy
Who is dead and far a way.

Ding dong my castle bell,
Farewell my mommy,
You bury me in the same churchyard,
Along the side of my mommy.

My coffin shall be black,
Six white angels at the back,
Two to pray and two to watch,
And two to carry my soul a way.

======

30. LITTLE BLOSSOM + D [adapted from a poem]
By Martha J. Bidwell
Copyright 1873.

"Oh dear, I'm so tired an' lonesome,
I wonder why mama don't come;
She told me to shut up my blue eyes,
An' 'fore I'd wake up she'd come home.

"I think I'II go down an' meet papa,
I reckon he stopped at the store;
It's a pretty big store full of bottles,
I wish he wouldn't go there no more.

"Sometimes he is sick when he comes home,
An' stumbles an' falls on the stair,
An' one time he come in the parlor,
An' kicked at my pore little chair.

"An' I 'member how papa was angry,
His face was so red an' so wild,
An' I 'member he struck at pore mama,
A-smilin' so meek an' so mild.

"But I reckon I better go find him,
Perhaps he'll come home with me soon,
An' then it won't be dark an' lonesome
A-waitin' for mama to come."

Out into the night went the baby,
Her little heart beatin' with fright,
Till her tired feet reached the gin-palace,
All radiant with music an' light.

The little hand pushed the door open,
Though her touch was as light as a breath;
The little feet entered the portal
That leads but to ruin an' death.

"Oh papa," she cried as she reached him,
An' her voice rippled out sweet an' clear,
"I thought if I come here I'd find you,
I knowed that you'd surely be here!"

A moment the bleared eyes gazed wildly
Down into the face sweet an' fair,
An' then as the demon possessed him
He grabbed at the back of a chair.

One moment, one second, 'twas over,
The work of the fiend was complete,
An ' his pore little innocent baby
Lay quiverin' an' crushed at his feet.

Then swift as the light come his reason
An' showed him the deed he had done;
With a groan that the devil might pity
He knelt by her quiverin' form.

He pressed the pale face to his bosom,
He lifted the fair golden head;
A moment the baby lips quivered,
Then pore little Phoebe was dead.

Then in come the law so majestic
An' says with his life he must pay,
That only a fiend or a madman
Would murder a child that-a-way.

But the man that had sold him the pizen
That made him a demon of hell,
Why, he must be loved an' respected
Because he was licensed to sell.

He may rob you of friends an' of money,
Send you down to perdition an' woe,
But so long as he pays for the license,
The law must protect him, you know.

God pity the women an' children,
Who live under the juggernaut rum;
God hasten the day when against it
Neither heart, voice or pen shall be dumb.

The preceding information was derived from the backfiles of the San Joaquin Valley Information Service.
We hope you will find it useful, both as an introduction and as a guide for further study.
Please consult with your local public library about obtaining copies of the works cited.

Revised 1/2001 DJD

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