A poem originally written by HDG Srila Bhaktivinoda Thakura in the early 1870's.
Alas for those who spend their days
In festive mirth and joy.
The dazzling, deadly, liquid forms
Their hearts fore'er employ.
The shining bottles charm their eyes
And draw their heart's embrace;
The slaves of wine can never rise
From what we call disgrace.
Was man intended to be
A brute in work and heart?
Should man, the Lord of all around,
From common sense depart?
Man's glory is in common sense
Dictating us the grace,
That man is made to live and love
The beauteous Heaven's embrace.
The flesh is not our own alas;
The mortal frame a chain;
The soul confined for former wrongs
Should try to rise again.
Why then this childish play in that
Which cannot be our own;
Which falls within a hundred years
As if a rose ablown.
Our life is but a rosy hue
To go ere long for naught;
The soul alone would last fore'er
With good or evil fraught.
How deep the thought of times to be!
How grave the aspect

