And the voice of the mendicant never is mute.
’Tis a land of the West, fair, glorious, and free,
First flower of the land, first gem of the sea;
I would we poor soldiers some method could learn,
To the depths of its bosom, this gem to return.
——:o:——
Overworked.
They stood upon his nose’s bridge of size—
His spectacles; a book in either hand.
I saw a queer expression in his eyes,