Sung by: Roberta and Bob Blair
Recorded in Pleasant Grove, AR, 7/5/52

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'Twas on a dark and stormy night,
I thought I saw an awful sight.
The lightning flashed, the thunder rolled
Upon a poor old drunkard's soul.
I thought I saw a gulf below,
A place where dying drunkards go.

An awful thought, no tongue can tell:
Was this my home in drunkard's hell?
I thought I saw a wicked crowd,
And I thought they cried aloud:
"Come on, young man, we'll find you room.
This is a whiskey-seller's home."

I started out of there at last;
I thought I'd take one social glass.
But every time I did stir, well,
I'd think of most a drunkard's hell.
I splashed it out all over the place,
And went to seek redeeming grace.

I felt like Paul when once he prayed,
Because his sins were washed away.
I started home to change my life,
To see my poor neglected wife.
I found her weeping by her bed
Because our own little babe was dead.

I told her not to mourn or weep
Because our babe was just asleep.
Its little soul has gone away
To dwell with God 'til endless day.
I took her by her small white hand;
She was so weak she could not stand.

I bowed my head and prayed a prayer
That God might help and guide us there.
     (One singer sings this; the other sings,
     "That God might guide and save us there.")
Seven long years have passed away
Since first I bowed my head to pray;
But still I live a Christian life
With a happy home and a Christian wife.

Also found in Randolph, Vol. II, #313; Brown, Vol. III, #20.

All Songs Recorded by John Quincy Wolf, Jr., unless otherwise noted

The John Quincy Wolf Folklore Collection
Lyon College, Batesville, Arkansas
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