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His sails are furled, his voyage is done, —
Now may the gallant sailor rest;
The peaceful port his bark has won,
No hostile storms shall more molest;
Life's boisterous course he has bravely run, —
Lay him away, with his worth confest.
Ay, throw above him the starry pall
He loved so well in his hours of life;
He has seen its gossamer shadow fall
Where the spirits of ocean waged their strife,
Has waved its folds round earth's huge ball,
His soul with its sovereign glories rife.
'T is a fitting shroud, and he loved it well,
But his beaming eye is glazed and cold,
And his manly heart will never swell
To see it in starry pride unfold;
Yet place it there, — its stars may tell
The shining deeds of the sailor bold.
It may tell the tale of a generous heart,
That never refused a friend's appeal;
It may tell of tears that dared to start
From founts that pity bade unseal;
It may tell of a bolder, a sterner part,
Where duty claimed his nerves of steel.
All, all alone! not a kinsman near
To see the earth receive its own;
No gallant messmate by his bier,
To mark his frail wreck where 't is thrown;
The winds sing o'er him an anthem drear,
And the heavens their tears outpour alone.
But naught he cares: nor rain, nor cold,
Nor ill of earth, doth the body know;
His spirit eyes on scenes unfold
Surpassing all he has known below;
Around and above him are joys untold,
He ne'er would exchange for mortal woe.


Page 109
Then lay his hulk where the bright flowers bloom,
When the bitter winter storms are fled,
Where the apple-blossoms shall give perfume,
And the grass its emerald beauties spread,
Where the stars he loved shall ever illume
With gentle rays his lowly bed,
And birds all the summer long shall come
And sing o'er the sailor dead.