There shall be no more sea: no wild winds bringing
⁠Their stormy tidings to the rocky strand,
With its scant grasses, and pale sea-flowers springing
⁠From out the barren sand.

No angry wave, from cliff and cavern hoary,
⁠To hearts that tremble at its mournful lore;
Bearing on shattered sail and spar the story
⁠Of one who comes no more;

The loved and lost, whose steps no more may wander
⁠Where wild gorse sheds its blooms of living gold,
Nor slake his thirst where mountain rills meander
⁠Along the heathy wold.

Never again through flowery dingles wending,
⁠In the hushed stillness of the sacred morn,
By shady woodpaths, where tall poppies, bending,
⁠Redden the ripening corn.

Neath whispering leaves his rosy children gather
⁠In the grey hamlet's simple place of graves,
Round the low tomb where sleeps his white-haired father,
⁠Far from the noise of waves.

There shall be no more sea! No surges sweeping
⁠O'er love and youth, and childhood's sunny hair:
Naught of decay and change, nor voice of weeping
⁠Ruffle the fragrant air

Of that fair land within whose pearly portal
⁠The golden light falls soft on fount and tree;
Vexed by no tempest, stretch those shores immortal,
⁠Where there is no more sea.

A fair head meekly bowed,
⁠A shy glance coming after,
Voices not over loud,
⁠And a low sweet laughter:
⁠So is the story told
⁠Up in the cottage old
⁠Under the smoky rafter.

A fair maid flushing red
⁠With an unknown feeling,
But shamed to bow her head
⁠For all her lover's kneeling:
⁠So is the story told
⁠Down 'mid the white and gold
⁠Under the painted ceiling.

Together we walked in the evening time,
Above us the sky spread golden and clear,
And he bent his head and looked in my eyes,
As if he held me of all most dear.
⁠Oh! it was sweet in the evening time!

Grayer the light grew and grayer still,
The rooks flitted home through the purple shade;
The nightingales sang where the thorns stood high,
As I walked with him in the woodland glade.
⁠Oh! it was sweet in the evening time!

And our pathway went through fields of wheat;
Narrow that path and rough the way,
But he was near, and the birds sang true,
And the stars came out in the twilight gray.
⁠Oh! it was sweet in the evening time!

Softly he spoke of the days long past,
Softly of blessed days to be;
Close to his arm and closer I prest
The corn-field path was Eden to me.
⁠Oh! it was sweet in the evening time!

And the latest gleams of daylight died;
My hand in his enfolded lay;
We swept the dew from the wheat as we passed,
For narrower, narrower, wound the way.
⁠Oh! it was sweet in the evening time!

He looked in the depths of my eyes and said,
"Sorrow and gladness will come for us, sweet;
But together we'll walk through the fields of life
⁠Close as we walked through the fields of wheat."

Brave soul, who well the anguish didst endure
Of thy life's scourge; controlling more and more
By patient will the taint, which baffled cure,
Of fell disease; while, rich in varied store,
In subtlest reason schooled, the unclouded brain
Braved toil and keen encounter, in disdain
Of curtained ease and tendance, to explore
The law's dim labyrinths and rugged lore.
Great advocate! who nobly didst maintain
The entrusted cause, while throbbed each nerve with pain;
Judge of high aim, clear thought, unruffled mien,
Masking thine inward pangs with brow serene!
Soldier of Him who vanquished pain, well done!
Joy to each loyal heart! thy well-earned rest is won.