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Show IE SONG OF THE DRIFTWEED. I Here's to the home that wag novor, I never ours! I Toast it full and fairly when the win-I win-I ter lowers. 1 Speak yo low, my merry men, sitting at your ease; Harken to the drift in tho roaring of the seas. Here's to the life we shall never llvo on earth! Cut for us awry, awry, ages ore the Sot the toeth and meet it well, wind upon the shore; Like a lion, in tho face look the Nevermore! Never-more! Here's to the love we wore never meant to win! What of that? A many shells have a pearl within; Some are mated with the gold in the light of day; Some are buried fathoms deep in the ! seas away. Here's to the selves we shall novor, never he! We're tho drift of tho world and the tangle of the sea. It's far beyond the Pleiad, it's out beyond be-yond tho sun Whore the rootless shall be rpotod whon tho wander-year is . done. Jessie Mackay, in Everybody's. I n |