Go forth, oh noble soul and great, The sea is
still, the sky is low, As if 'twere but a step to go Where all good angels wait.
The moon has risen more light than day, The wind is hushed and storms are far, There is no moaning on the bar, Go forth upon thy glorious way.
And as thou halt desired, arise To unknown realms, to higher place, Meeting thy Pilot face to face, Under the tranquil-gleaming skies.
No other words than these, thine own, Rise to each heart, all accents swell, There is no sadness of farewell, But welcome, honour, joy, renown.
And whatsoever wreath may bloom, And whatsoever laurel twine, Great Poet ! knowing it is thine, We watch in awe, but not in gloom. A life with every glory crowned, Age with no failure e'er distrest, Death with no pain, nor yet unrest, All perfect in the noble round.
If sobs are heard, if tears are shed, 'Tis only because Nature must The little of thee that is dust, The little of thee that can fade.
Lying in state amid thy peers, Here send we forth no shouts of fame ; All glory, in his simple name, Shall shine throughout the endless years.
M. 0. W. 0.
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