HOLIDAYS IN HAWAII 



ON the edge of the world my islands lie/* sings 

 Mrs. Frear in her little lyric on the Hawaiian 

 Islands. 



&quot; On the edge of the world my islands lie. 

 Under the sun-steeped sky; 

 And their waving palms 

 Are bounteous alms 

 To the soul-spent passer-by. 



&quot; On the edge of the world my islands sleep 

 In a slumber soft and deep. 



What should they know 



Of a world of woe, 

 And myriad men that weep ? &quot; 



On the rim of the world my fancy seemed to see 

 them that May day when we went aboard the huge 

 Pacific steamship in San Francisco Harbor, and she 

 pointed her prow westward toward the vast wilder 

 ness of the Pacific on the edge of the world, 

 looking out and down across the vast water toward 

 Asia and Australia. I wondered if the great iron 

 ship could find them, and if we should realize or 

 visualize the geography or the astronomy when we 

 got there, and see ourselves on the huge rotundity 

 of the globe not far above her equatorial girdle. 



Yes, on the rim of the world they lie to the trav 

 eler steaming toward them, and on the rim of the 

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