Only a tramp by the roadside dead, Only a tramp—who cares? His feet are bare, his dull eyes stare, And the wind plays freaks with his unkempt hair. The sun rose up and the sun went down, But nobody missed him from the town Where he begged for bread 'till the day he was dead. He's only a tramp—who cares? Only a tramp, a nuisance gone. One more tramp less—who cares? Ghastly and gray, in the lane all day, A soiled, dead heap of human clay. Would the wasted crumbs in the rich man's hall, Where the gas-lights gleam and the curtains fall, 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, Nor mark with tow'ring monument The sod above my breast. 

Nor carve on gleaming, marble slab A burning thought or deed, Or word of love, or praise, or blame, For stranger eyes to read. 

But deep, deep in your heart of hearts, A tender mem'ry save; Upon my dead face drop your tears—   Put flowers on my grave. 

 

     OLD AUNT LUCY. 

Why into that darkened chamber Walk you with such noiseless tread? No slumbering one will awaken—   The sheeted form is dead. 

Why gaze on the rigid features, So white in death's embrace, With such look of awe and pity?   'Tis only the same old face. 

Why touch you now so tender The hands that silent lay? They're only the sunburned fingers That toiled for you night and day. 

Why now, with your tear-dimmed vision, So softly do you press Upon the wrinkled forehead Your 

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