Classic Poem

Sailing some dark tempestuous main—
Beset by storm or hurricane
That threatens to ingulf and wreck—
The sailor on the wave-washed deck
Thinks of the home-port far away
Where late his vessel, anchored fast
Within a little tranquil bay,
Knew nothing of the tattering blast,
But rocked upon the peaceful tide
While suns came up and moons went down,
And furled its idle sails beside
A moss-roofed idle town.

So one who leaves his boyhood's home,
About the wretched world to roam,
Led off by visions born of hope
Inspired by youth's kaleidoscope,
Will often turn—his visions fled,
His hopes like storm-beat blossoms dead—
Toward that place of all the blest,
Old home, the haven of sweet rest,
And go, though some forget to meet
The wanderer with kindly look,
To find once more and gladly greet
Loved ones in mothernook.