WHERE ARE YOU GOING, YOUNG MAN
WHERE are you going so fast, young man,
Where are you going so fast,
With the cup in your hand, and a flush on your brow?
Though pleasure and mirth may accompany you now,
It tells of sorrow to come by-and-by;
It tells of a pang that is sealed with a sigh;
It tells of a shame at last, young man,—
A withering shame that will last.
Where are you going so fast, young man?
Where are you going so fast?
In the flush of that wine there is only a bait—
A curse lies beneath that you'll find when too late;
A serpent sleeps down in the depths of that cup;
A monster is there that will swallow you up;
A sorrow you'll find at last, young man,—
In wine there is sorrow at last.
There's a reckoning day to come, young man;
A reckoning day to come,
A life yet to live, and a death yet to die,
A sad, parting tear and a parting sigh;
A journey to take, and a famishing heart,
A sharp pang to feel from Death's chilling dart;
A curse if you drink that rum, young man,—
The bitterest curse in that rum.
Selected.