Have given him a longer lease of breath--
Have saved the wretch from starving to death?
He's only a tramp--who cares?

Only a tramp! was he ever more
Than a beggar tramp? Who cares?
Was the hard-lined face ever dimpled and sweet?
Has a mother kissed those rough brown feet,
And thought their tramping a sweeter strain
Than ever will waken his ear again?
Does somebody kneel 'way over the sea,
Praying "Father, bring back my boy to me?"
Does somebody watch and weep and pray
For the tramp who lies dead in the lane to-day?
He's only a tramp--who cares?


* * * * *



PUT FLOWERS ON MY GRAVE.

When dead, no imposing funeral rite,
Nor line of praise I crave;
But drop your tears upon my face--
Put flowers on my grave.

Close not in narrow wall the place
In which my heart finds rest,