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Poems for the Sea.
When the watch of time is sped,
When its beacon-fires are dead,
When our sails no more are furl'd
From the tempests of the world,
And no more, expanding wide,
Woo its gales of joy or pride,
When those ties the heart that sway,
Pass, like smoking flax away,
When the judgment-seat is set,
When the tribes of earth are met,
When those Books, whose awful scroll
Seal the sentence of the soul,
Ope,—for endless bliss, or pain;
Then, shall we all meet again.
