You shall store all your baggage of worries, You shall feel perfect peace in this realm, You shall sail with old friends on fair waters, With joy and delight at the helm. You shall wander in cool, fragrant gardens With those who have loved you the best, And the hopes that were lost in life’s journey You shall find in the City of Rest. THE DISAPPOINTED. There are songs enough for the hero Who dwells on the heights of fame; I sing for the disappointed-- For those who missed their aim. I sing with a tearful cadence For one who stands in the dark, And knows that his last, best arrow Has bounded back from the mark. I sing for the breathless runner, The eager, anxious soul, Who falls with his strength exhausted, Almost in sight of the goal; For the hearts that break in silence, With a sorrow all unknown, For those who need companions, Yet walk their ways alone. There are songs enough for the lovers Who share love’s tender pain, I sing for the one whose passion Is given all in vain. For those whose spirit comrades Have missed them on the way, I sing, with a heart o’erflowing, This minor strain to-day. And I know the Solar system Must somewhere keep in space A prize for that spent runner Who barely lost the race. For the plan would be imperfect Unless it held some sphere That paid for the toil and talent And love that are wasted here. FISHING. Maybe this is fun, sitting in the sun, With a book and parasol, as my Angler wishes, While he dips his line in the ocean brine, Under the impression that his bait will catch the fishes. ’Tis romantic, yes, but I must confess Thoughts of shady rooms at home somehow seem more inviting. But I dare not move--“Quiet, there, my love!” Says my Angler, “for I think a monster fish is biting.” Oh, of course it’s bliss, but how hot it is! And the rock I’m sitting on grows harder every minute; Still my fisher waits, trying various baits, But the basket at his side I see has nothing in it. Oh, it’s just the way to pass a July day, Arcadian and sentimental, dreamy, idle, charming, But how fierce the sunlight falls! and the way that insect crawls Along my neck and down my back is really quite alarming “Any luck?” I gently ask of the angler at his task, “There’s something pulling at my line,” he says; “I’ve almost caught it.” But when with blistered face, we our homeward steps retrace, We take the little basket just as empty as we brought it. A PIN.