"If any one thinks that these verses are 'rot,' I'm the very last person to say they are not."
Despite Sir Wilfred's humbleness, I have no hesitation in saying that if the verses in question have no literary form, they nevertheless go straight to the point.
Who to the heathen far away, Send Christian men to preach and pray, And bring them to a brighter day? My Brewer.
Who, when aloud the poor have cried, And poverty is raging wide, Has means of charity supplied? My Brewer.
Who fills his pocket with the sale Of porter, beer, and generous ale, Which crowd the workhouse and the gaol? My Brewer.
Who fills our slums with waifs and strays? Who havoc with our nation plays, And brings disgrace on all our ways? My Brewer.
Who is it bosses all the show, As through this curious world we go, And dominates both high and low? My Brewer."
Said the Bishop to the Brewer, 'Sir, I very greatly fear, From all that I have heard, that you adulterate your beer.
Said the Brewer to the Bishop, 'Nay, that really is not true; Who told you such a story? I insist on knowing who.'
But the Bishop he was silent as to what they put in beer, He didn't seem to have, in fact, the very least idea.
For in all his great researches, both in pamphlet and in 'vol.,' It never really struck him that it must be alcohol.
Sir William Gull has told us how the world by this is cursed, That alcohol of all bad things is just the very worst.
But the Bishop--dear, good man!--he still has got a strong idea, That there's something very charming in the purity of beer.
Oh! these Bishops and these Brewers, I really greatly fear, They will never, never solve this point about what's in the beer.
But the land is full of sorrow, and there's little hope of cure, Unless these wise men hit upon a beer that's really 'pure.'
Then let us set to work, boys, with heart, and hope, and cheer, And help them all we can to get 'The Purity of Beer.'
'Tis beer which keeps in comfort--as by every one is known, The Brewer in his mansion, and the Bishop on his throne.
The British Constitution, and all we value here-- Church, Army, Navy, Parliament--it's corner-stone is beer."
The brewer, because he amasses a large fortune out of beer, is ennobled.
The ex-brewer--Frederick Charrington, for instance--who gives up an enormous sum for conscience' sake, and an enormous sum again made from beer, remains unhonoured, save by the love and adherence of his own people in the East End. If Frederick Charrington had mixed up an active political propaganda with his Christian work, by now he would have received a baronetcy or at least a knighthood. If he had been merely a paid secretary of some philanthropic organisation, he might yet have been knighted--as more than one recent ennoblement shows. But because he gave up everything, and worked for his Master, without pandering to this or that political party--though in politics he is a Liberal--the _accolade_ has never come in his way. From his own point of view I know such an honour would count as nothing. It is for other, and unworldly honours, that he has lived his life. But, as a recognition of his self-sacrifice and devotion, surely some public acknowledgment from the throne would be a very proper thing?