1 Intemp'rance, like a raging flood,
Is sweeping o'er the land;
Its dire effects, in tears and blood,
Are traced on every hand.
2 It still flows on, and bears away
Ten thousands to their doom:
Who shall the mighty torrent stay,
And disappoint the tomb?
3 Almighty God! no hand but thine
Can check the flowing tide;
Stretch out thine arm of power divine,
And bid the flood subside.
4 Dry up the source from whence it flows,
Destroy its fountain-head:
That dire Intemp'rance and its woes
No more the earth o'erspread.
Source: The Voice of Praise: a collection of hymns for the use of the Methodist Church #969
|First Line:||Intemperance, like a raging flood|