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Show MEMORY'S PICTURE. (By Joe Lincoln.) Ye children of the mountains, sing of your craggy peaks. Your valleys, forest-girdled, your cliffs wher Echo speaks: And ye. . ho by the prairies your child- ish joys have seen. Sing of your waving grasses, your rolling miles of green. But, when my memory wanders down to- waru the uear oiu nome, I hear, amid my dreaming, the seething I of the foam. j The wet wind through the pine trees, the . . gurgling splash and roar, . The. solemn surge and thunder of the surf along the shore. I see. upon the sand-dunes, the beach-grass beach-grass sway and swing. I see the screaming seagulls skim by on graceful wing, I . see the silver breakers tossed high on , shoal and bar. And hear the bell-buoy tolling his lonely note afair; The green, tide-meadows bring me their salty, sweet perfume, I hear, through miles of dimness, the watchful foghorn boom; Once more, against the blackness of Nieht's- great rocf-tree high. The v.'ild geese chant their marches athwart the arching sky. The dear old cape; I love it! I love its hills of sand. The sea-winds singing o'er it, the seaweed on its strand The broad, biue ocean round it. the bright, blue sky o'erhead. ( . The fisher-boats, the dripping nets, the white sails filled and spread For each heart has its picture, and each its own home song. The sights and sounds that move it when childhood's memories thronpr. And when, in fancy's dreamland, a boy '. I live once more, I hear the mighty music of the surf along .. the shore. ...... |