AGAINST THE STREAM.
(FOR MUSIC.)
How oft, in life's rough battle, we,
Struck down by hard adversity,
In saddest hour of trial see
No friend with helping hand.
Then in despair beneath the wave
We sink, with none to help or save.
When if we 'd been both bold and brave
We might have reached the land.
Should things go wrong this is the plan;
Forget the past as best you can,
Then turn your sleeves up like a man
And pull against the stream.
Yes, pull against the stream, my friends;
That lane is long which never ends;
That bow ne'er made which never bends
To shoot its arrow home.
If twenty times you miss your aim,
Or ten times twenty lose the game,
Keep up your spirits all the same—
Your turn is sure to come.
Should things go wrong this is the plan;
Forget the past as best you can,
Then turn your sleeves up like a man
And pull against the stream.
In love or pleasure, work or play,
Men cannot always win the day,
For mixed among life's prizes gay
What hosts of blanks are found.
Though skies to-day be overcast—
Though bitter blows the wintry blast—
The Summer days will come at last
With hope and sunshine crown'd.
Should things go wrong this is the plan;
Forget the past as best you can,
Then turn your sleeves up like a man,
And pull against the stream.
WRECKED IN SIGHT OF HOME.
(FOR MUSIC.)
The ship through the sunshine sails over the sea,
From many a distant clime comes she,
Freighted with treasure, see how she flies
Cheerily over the foam.
Hearts are all happy, cheeks are all bright,
The long-absent land appears in sight;
Little they dream that the beautiful prize
Will be wrecked in sight of home!
The storm breaks above them, the thunders roll,
The ship gets aground on the hidden shoal,
And the turbulent waters dash over the barque,
And cries from the doomed ship come.
Till nothing is left the tale to tell,
But the angry roar of the surging swell;
So the grand old vessel goes down in the dark—
Wrecked in sight of home.
And thus as we wander through life's rugged way,
Fighting its battles as best we may,
Seeking in fancy a far-distant spot
To rest when we've ceased to roam:
And just as the haven of comfort appears,
Our hopes are all turned into sadness and tears,
We droop near the threshold—ne'er enter the cot—
Wrecked in sight of home.