A vision of a savage land,
A glimpse of cloud-ringed seas;
A moonlit deck, a murderous hand;
No more, no more of these!
No more! how heals the tender flesh,
Once torn by savage beast?
The wound, re-opening, bleeds afresh,
Each season at the least!
O day, for dawn of thee how prayed
The spirit, sore distressed;
Thy latest beams, upslanting, made
A pathway for the blest.
And robes, new-donned, of the redeemed,
Gleamed white past griefs dark pall:
So this, a day of death which seemed,
A birthday let us call.
Remembering, such day as this,
A soul from flesh was shriven,
By death, Gods messenger of bliss;
A spirit entered Heaven.
Thy dying head no loving breast
Upheld, O early slain;
But soon, mid welcom...