The Ocean Burial.“Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea,”The words came low and mournfully,From the pallid lips of a youth who layOn his cabin couch at the close of day;He had wasted and pined till o’er his browDeath’s shade had slowly pass’d, and nowWhere the land and his fond loved home were nigh,They had gather’d around him to see him die.“Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea,Where the billowing shroud will swell o’er me;Where no light will break through the dark cold wave,And no sunbeam rest upon my grave;It matters not, I have often been toldWhere the body shall lie when the heart is cold,Yet grant, oh, grant this boon to me,Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.“For in fancy I’ve listen’d to the well-known words,The free wild winds and the songs of the birds;I have thought of home, of cot, and of bower,And of scenes that I loved in childhood’s hour,I had even hoped to be laid, when I died,In the churchyard there on the green hill-side,By the homes of my father my grave should be,—Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.“Let my death slumbers be where a mother’s prayer,And a sister’s tear shall be mingled there;It will be sweet ere the heart’s gentle throb is o’er,To know when its fountain shall gush no more,That those it so fondly hath yearn’d for will comeTo plant the first wild flower of spring on my tomb;Let me lie where those loved ones will weep over me,—Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.“And there is another whose tears would be shedFor him who lay far in an ocean bed;In hours that it pains me to think of now,She hath twined those locks and hath kiss’d this brow.In the hair she hath wreathed shall the sea serpent hiss,And the brow she hath press’d shall the cold wave kiss!For the sake of that bright one, that waiteth for me,Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.“She hath been in my dreams”—His voice failed there,They gave no heed to his dying prayer;They have lower’d him low o’er the vessel side,Above him has closed the dark cold tide.Where to dip the light wings the sea-bird rests,And the blue waves dance o’er the ocean crest,Where the billows bound and the winds sport free,They have buried him there in the deep, deep sea.
“Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea,”The words came low and mournfully,From the pallid lips of a youth who layOn his cabin couch at the close of day;He had wasted and pined till o’er his browDeath’s shade had slowly pass’d, and nowWhere the land and his fond loved home were nigh,They had gather’d around him to see him die.“Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea,Where the billowing shroud will swell o’er me;Where no light will break through the dark cold wave,And no sunbeam rest upon my grave;It matters not, I have often been toldWhere the body shall lie when the heart is cold,Yet grant, oh, grant this boon to me,Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.“For in fancy I’ve listen’d to the well-known words,The free wild winds and the songs of the birds;I have thought of home, of cot, and of bower,And of scenes that I loved in childhood’s hour,I had even hoped to be laid, when I died,In the churchyard there on the green hill-side,By the homes of my father my grave should be,—Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.“Let my death slumbers be where a mother’s prayer,And a sister’s tear shall be mingled there;It will be sweet ere the heart’s gentle throb is o’er,To know when its fountain shall gush no more,That those it so fondly hath yearn’d for will comeTo plant the first wild flower of spring on my tomb;Let me lie where those loved ones will weep over me,—Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.“And there is another whose tears would be shedFor him who lay far in an ocean bed;In hours that it pains me to think of now,She hath twined those locks and hath kiss’d this brow.In the hair she hath wreathed shall the sea serpent hiss,And the brow she hath press’d shall the cold wave kiss!For the sake of that bright one, that waiteth for me,Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.“She hath been in my dreams”—His voice failed there,They gave no heed to his dying prayer;They have lower’d him low o’er the vessel side,Above him has closed the dark cold tide.Where to dip the light wings the sea-bird rests,And the blue waves dance o’er the ocean crest,Where the billows bound and the winds sport free,They have buried him there in the deep, deep sea.
“Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea,”The words came low and mournfully,From the pallid lips of a youth who layOn his cabin couch at the close of day;He had wasted and pined till o’er his browDeath’s shade had slowly pass’d, and nowWhere the land and his fond loved home were nigh,They had gather’d around him to see him die.“Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea,Where the billowing shroud will swell o’er me;Where no light will break through the dark cold wave,And no sunbeam rest upon my grave;It matters not, I have often been toldWhere the body shall lie when the heart is cold,Yet grant, oh, grant this boon to me,Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.“For in fancy I’ve listen’d to the well-known words,The free wild winds and the songs of the birds;I have thought of home, of cot, and of bower,And of scenes that I loved in childhood’s hour,I had even hoped to be laid, when I died,In the churchyard there on the green hill-side,By the homes of my father my grave should be,—Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.“Let my death slumbers be where a mother’s prayer,And a sister’s tear shall be mingled there;It will be sweet ere the heart’s gentle throb is o’er,To know when its fountain shall gush no more,That those it so fondly hath yearn’d for will comeTo plant the first wild flower of spring on my tomb;Let me lie where those loved ones will weep over me,—Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.“And there is another whose tears would be shedFor him who lay far in an ocean bed;In hours that it pains me to think of now,She hath twined those locks and hath kiss’d this brow.In the hair she hath wreathed shall the sea serpent hiss,And the brow she hath press’d shall the cold wave kiss!For the sake of that bright one, that waiteth for me,Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.“She hath been in my dreams”—His voice failed there,They gave no heed to his dying prayer;They have lower’d him low o’er the vessel side,Above him has closed the dark cold tide.Where to dip the light wings the sea-bird rests,And the blue waves dance o’er the ocean crest,Where the billows bound and the winds sport free,They have buried him there in the deep, deep sea.
“Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea,”The words came low and mournfully,From the pallid lips of a youth who layOn his cabin couch at the close of day;He had wasted and pined till o’er his browDeath’s shade had slowly pass’d, and nowWhere the land and his fond loved home were nigh,They had gather’d around him to see him die.
“Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea,”
The words came low and mournfully,
From the pallid lips of a youth who lay
On his cabin couch at the close of day;
He had wasted and pined till o’er his brow
Death’s shade had slowly pass’d, and now
Where the land and his fond loved home were nigh,
They had gather’d around him to see him die.
“Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea,Where the billowing shroud will swell o’er me;Where no light will break through the dark cold wave,And no sunbeam rest upon my grave;It matters not, I have often been toldWhere the body shall lie when the heart is cold,Yet grant, oh, grant this boon to me,Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.
“Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea,
Where the billowing shroud will swell o’er me;
Where no light will break through the dark cold wave,
And no sunbeam rest upon my grave;
It matters not, I have often been told
Where the body shall lie when the heart is cold,
Yet grant, oh, grant this boon to me,
Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.
“For in fancy I’ve listen’d to the well-known words,The free wild winds and the songs of the birds;I have thought of home, of cot, and of bower,And of scenes that I loved in childhood’s hour,I had even hoped to be laid, when I died,In the churchyard there on the green hill-side,By the homes of my father my grave should be,—Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.
“For in fancy I’ve listen’d to the well-known words,
The free wild winds and the songs of the birds;
I have thought of home, of cot, and of bower,
And of scenes that I loved in childhood’s hour,
I had even hoped to be laid, when I died,
In the churchyard there on the green hill-side,
By the homes of my father my grave should be,—
Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.
“Let my death slumbers be where a mother’s prayer,And a sister’s tear shall be mingled there;It will be sweet ere the heart’s gentle throb is o’er,To know when its fountain shall gush no more,That those it so fondly hath yearn’d for will comeTo plant the first wild flower of spring on my tomb;Let me lie where those loved ones will weep over me,—Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.
“Let my death slumbers be where a mother’s prayer,
And a sister’s tear shall be mingled there;
It will be sweet ere the heart’s gentle throb is o’er,
To know when its fountain shall gush no more,
That those it so fondly hath yearn’d for will come
To plant the first wild flower of spring on my tomb;
Let me lie where those loved ones will weep over me,—
Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.
“And there is another whose tears would be shedFor him who lay far in an ocean bed;In hours that it pains me to think of now,She hath twined those locks and hath kiss’d this brow.In the hair she hath wreathed shall the sea serpent hiss,And the brow she hath press’d shall the cold wave kiss!For the sake of that bright one, that waiteth for me,Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.
“And there is another whose tears would be shed
For him who lay far in an ocean bed;
In hours that it pains me to think of now,
She hath twined those locks and hath kiss’d this brow.
In the hair she hath wreathed shall the sea serpent hiss,
And the brow she hath press’d shall the cold wave kiss!
For the sake of that bright one, that waiteth for me,
Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea.
“She hath been in my dreams”—His voice failed there,They gave no heed to his dying prayer;They have lower’d him low o’er the vessel side,Above him has closed the dark cold tide.Where to dip the light wings the sea-bird rests,And the blue waves dance o’er the ocean crest,Where the billows bound and the winds sport free,They have buried him there in the deep, deep sea.
“She hath been in my dreams”—His voice failed there,
They gave no heed to his dying prayer;
They have lower’d him low o’er the vessel side,
Above him has closed the dark cold tide.
Where to dip the light wings the sea-bird rests,
And the blue waves dance o’er the ocean crest,
Where the billows bound and the winds sport free,
They have buried him there in the deep, deep sea.