Classic Poem

Three authors stood upon the beach
And watched the fishing-smacks heave to;
As far as human eye could reach,
Swept one expanse of saline blue.
First Hawthorne spoke: " While ebbs the tide,
Suppose we three a-fishing go? "
" 'T is well, " the white-haired Stoddard cried.
" Amen, " quoth Reverend E. P. Roe.

" 'Neath yonder hedge, where burdocks blow
And chirps the cricket to his mate,
Methinks the plethoric gentles grow;
Come, let us dig a few for bait. "
Thus big, strong Julian Hawthorne said;
But with a smile that answered " No, "
The dear old Stoddard shook his head;
And quoth to Reverend E. P. Roe:

" Although, assuredly, I am
Unlearn'd in piscatorial lore,
I mind me that the modest clam
Beats all your bait that grows ashore;
Still care I not, and you, friend Roe,
Shall name the bait and fix the terms;
So now decide before we go —
Shall it be clams or angleworms? "

" 'T is not for such a wretch as I
To say what shall or shall not be,
For He who heeds the raven's cry
Will care, in His good time, for me.
Whether upon the ocean tides
Or by the water-brooks I go,
I'll take the bait the Lord provides! "
Remarked the Reverend E. P. Roe.