The Sailor's Grave.
1 Not in the church-yard shall he sleep,
Amid the silent gloom,--
His home was on the mighty deep,
And there shall be his tomb.
2 He loved his own bright, deep blue sea,
O'er it he loved to roam;
And now his winding sheet shall be
That same bright ocean's foam.
3 No village bell shall toll for him
Its mournful, solemn dirge;
The winds shall chant a requiem
To him beneath the surge.
4 For him, break not the grassy turf,
Nor turn the dewy sod;
His dust shall rest beneath the surf,
His spirit with its God.