He Had Bowed Down To Drunkenness, An Abject Worshipper: The Pride Of Manhood'S Pulse Had Grown Too Faint And Cold To Stir; And He Had Given His Spirit Up To The Unbless'D Thrall, And Bowing To The Poison Cup, He Gloried In His Fall! There Came A Change The Cloud Rolled Off, And Light Fell On His Brain And Like The Passing Of A Dream That Cometh Not Again, The Shadow Of The Spirit Fled. He Saw The Gulf Before, He Shuddered At The Waste Behind, And Was A Man Once More. He Shook The Serpent Folds Away, That Gathered Round His Heart, As Shakes The Swaying Forest-Oak Its Poison Vine Apart; He Stood Erect; Returning Pride Grew Terrible Within, And Conscience Sat In Judgment, On His Most Familiar Sin. The Light Of Intellect Again Along His Pathway Shone; And Reason Like A Monarch Sat Upon His Olden Throne. The Honored And The Wise Once More Within His Presence Came; And Lingered Oft On Lovely Lips His Once Forbidden Name. There May Be Glory In The Might, That Treadeth Nations Down; Wreaths For The Crimson Conqueror, Pride For The Kingly Crown; But Nobler Is That Triumph Hour, The Disenthralled Shall Find, When Evil Passion Boweth Down, Unto The Godlike Mind