Saltbush Bill, J. P.

The Lost Drink

  I had spent the night in the watch-house—
   My head was the size of three—
  So I went and asked the chemist
   To fix up a drink for me;
  And he brewed it from various bottles
   With soda and plenty of ice,
  With something that smelt like lemon,
   And something that seemed like spice.

  It fell on my parching palate
   Like the dew on a sun-baked plain,
  And my system began to flourish
   Like the grass in a soft spring rain;
  It wandered throughout my being,
   Suffusing my soul with rest,
  And I felt as I “scoffed” that liquid
   That life had a new-found zest.

  I have been on the razzle-dazzle
   Full many a time since then
  But I never could get the chemist
   To brew me that drink again.
  He says he's forgotten the notion—
   'Twas only by chance it came—
  He's tried me with various liquids
   But oh! they are not the same.

  We have sought, but we sought it vainly,
   That one lost drink divine;
  We have sampled his various bottles,
   But somehow they don't combine:
  Yet I know when I cross the River
   And stand on the Golden Shore
  I shall meet with an angel-chemist
   Who'll brew me that drink once more.