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197

THE AGED SAILOR.

Farewell! farewell, my good old sail!
Thou sport of zephyr, breeze, and gale;
Where sun and cloud, snow, rain and hail
Have tried their power on thee.
Thy strength is gone, thy day is o'er;
And thou shalt swell and speed no more,
To waft my bark from shore to shore,
Across a changeful sea.
And I, like thee, am old and torn;
My cord is loosed—my threads are worn;
With many a storm of life I 've borne,
When cold the skies, and dark.
I have but one more flood to brave:
Thou could'st not help me o'er its wave,
Nor from those shadowy waters save
My frail and lonely bark.
Yet I must soon put off, and feel
The threatening billows rock my keel;
But heaven will there its light reveal;
Nor let my compass fail
To point me o'er that deep untried,
Till I can safely stem the tide,
And all the storms of time outride:
Farewell, my good old sail!