Classic Poem

Low, low, sing low; the surge is hoarsely murmuring;
Sighs the sad wind, the cold, reproachful blast;
Hark, 'tis the sea bird, on pursuing wing,
Bearing words from home, the tenderest and the fast,
Sweet home, good bye! sweet friends and true,
Love breathes the prayer — the fond, the last adieu .

O, in this hour, when memory claims the whole,
What tears, what sighs, to us are fondly given;
Christ heed them all! and give the praying soul
Hopes, bright and strong, the gleaming star of Heaven.

Lands yet untrod await our eager feet;
Skies all untried will lend their radiance soon;
Hand joined in hand, the chain fraternal greet,
Notes, strange and weird, the mystic chords attune.

Swift roll the months; and oh, ye seasons fleet,
Bring the best morning on returning track;
Wait, sweet, sweet Home, your pilgrim friends to greet,
Bear, ye sad sea bird, this fond message back.