Classic Poem

Not by his grave I stand,—loved long ago,—
My playmate sleeping “Death's long, dreamless sleep.”
He on the tossing billow met Life's foe;
And he, alas! was buried in the deep.

No marble cenotaph, his tomb to mark,
Can ever rise above those waves afar;
But while remains unquenched in me Life's spark,
Still bright for me shall beam his natal star.

His birthday! it is here, and bids me turn
To vanished hours of childhood's careless joy,
When Love's sweet lessons oft my heart could learn
From that dear brother, that kind sailor-boy!

Now, far from that loved early home I dwell;
No more those paths our childhood knew we tread;
Nor can we meet till I have said “Farewell
To earthly scenes,” and o'er Death's river sped.

Yet Memory, ever true, with magic wand
Oft gilds each hour of our glad life anew;
And Faith reveals a better land beyond,
Than e'en our island-home 'mid waters blue.

I hope to meet him on the shining shore,
Where none of friends bereft shall lonely weep,
Where rolls no watery waste forevermore,
Where no loved forms are buried in the deep.