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To The Bar

Some are clean

And some are dirty;

Some you hate to love:

Steam rises

Off the wash below

And kitchen-wench above;

Spirits high

And beers below

All beckon near and far,—

I lost my love;

I lost my glove,

While drinking, at the bar.

Some would steal

From church-bowls

Or from tired beggars' grips

Before they'd stoop

To sneak a scoop

From coin-moat full of tips.

Our sinful flock

Is gather'd there

To raise and not to mar,—

To speed the clock

Or slow despair

By drinking, at the bar.