Classic Poem

Once, lying in my berth at night,
What time I sailed the China Seas,
There came, like thought of future ease
To him who wearies of the fight,

A dream of home. Far from the din
Of wind and wave my spirit flew.
What mattered how the typhoon blew?
I saw the city of my kin—

Its rivers twain. O native land!
O Pennsylvania meadows sweet!
O lanes where once with youthful feet
I walked or, musing, long would stand!

You must I love! Toward northern sky
The needle turns, where'er we roam;
So turns the wanderer's heart toward home:
You must I love until I die!