How many go forth at morning
Who never come home at night,

And hearts have broken for harsh words spoken
That sorrow can ne'er set right.

We have careful thought for the stranger,
And smiles for the sometime guest,
But oft for our own the bitter tone,
Though we love our own the best.
Ah, lip with the curve impatient,

Ah, brow with the shade of scorn,
'T were a cruel fate were the night too late
To undo the work of morn.

A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE

BY EPES SARGENT

A life on the ocean wave,

A home on the rolling deep;
Where the scatter'd waters rave,
And the winds their revels keep!
Like an eagle caged I pine

On this dull, unchanging shore:
Oh, give me the flashing brine,
The spray and the tempest's roar!

Once more on the deck I stand,
Of my own swift-gliding craft:
Set sail! farewell to the land;
The gale follows fair abaft.

We shoot through the sparkling foam,
Like an ocean-bird set free, -
Like the ocean-bird, our home

We'll find far out on the sea.

The land is no longer in view,
The clouds have begun to frown;
But with a stout vessel and crew,

We'll say, Let the storm come down!
And the song of our hearts shall be,
While the winds and the waters rave,

A home on the rolling sea!

A life on the ocean wave!

TREASURE IN HEAVEN

BY JOHN GODFREY SAXE

RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO GEORGE PEABODY, ESQ.

"What I spent, I had; what I left,
I lost; what I gave, I have!"

OLD EPITAPH

Every coin of earthly treasure
We have lavished, upon earth,
For our simple worldly pleasure,
May be reckoned something worth;
For the spending was not losing,
Though the purchase were but small;
It has perished with the using:

All the gold we leave behind us
When we turn to dust again
(Though our avarice may blind us),
We have gathered quite in vain;
Since we neither can direct it,
By the winds of fortune tossed,
Nor in other worlds expect it:
What we hoarded, we have lost.

But each merciful oblation
(Seed of pity wisely sown),
What we gave in self-negation,
We may safely call our own;
For the treasure freely given

Is the treasure that we hoard,
Since the angels keep in Heaven
What is lent unto the Lord!

THE OLD MAN'S MOTTO
BY JOHN GODFREY SAXE

"Give me a motto!" said a youth

To one whom years had rendered wise; "Some pleasant thought, or weighty truth, That briefest syllables comprise;

Some word of warning or of cheer
To grave upon my signet here.

"And, reverend father," said the boy,

"Since life, they say, is ever made A mingled web of grief and joy;

Since cares may come and pleasures fade,Pray, let the motto have a range

Of meaning matching every change."

"Sooth!" said the sire, "methinks you

A labor something over-nice, That well a finer brain might task.

What think you, lad, of this device (Older than I, though I am gray), "T is simple, 'This will pass away'?

"When wafted on by Fortune's breeze,

In endless peace thou seem'st to glide, Prepare betimes for rougher seas,

And check the boast of foolish pride; Though smiling joy is thine to-day, Remember, "This will pass away!'

"When all the sky is draped in black,
And, beaten by tempestuous gales,
Thy shuddering ship seems all a-wrack,
Then trim again thy tattered sails;
To grim Despair be not a prey;
Bethink thee, "This will pass away!'

"Thus, O my son, be not o'er-proud,

ask

Nor yet cast down; judge thou aright; When skies are clear, expect the cloud;

In darkness, wait the coming light; Whatever be thy fate to-day,

Remember, 'This will pass away!'"

THE SUPERFLUOUS MAN

BY JOHN GODFREY SAXE

"It is ascertained by inspection of the registers of many countries, that the uniform proportion of male to female births is as 21 to 20: accordingly, in respect to marriage, every 21st man is naturally superfluous."-TREATISE ON POPULATION.

I long have been puzzled to guess,

And so I have frequently said,
What the reason could really be

That I never have happened to wed;
But now it is perfectly clear,
I am under a natural ban;
The girls are already assigned,-
And I'm a superfluous man!

Those clever statistical chaps
Declare the numerical run
Of women and men in the world,
Is Twenty to Twenty-and-one;
And hence in the pairing, you see,
Since wooing and wedding began,
For every connubial score,

They've got a superfluous man!

By twenties and twenties they go,
And giddily rush to their fate,
For none of the number, of course,
Can fail of a conjugal mate;
But while they are yielding in scores
To Nature's inflexible plan,
There's never a woman for me,—

For I'm a superfluous man!