Page:In memoriam (IA inmemoriam00tennrich).pdf/26



One writes, that 'Other friends remain,' That 'Loss is common to the race'? And common is the commonplace, And vacant chaff well meant for grain.

That loss is common would not make My own less bitter, rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening, but some heart did break.

O father, wheresoe'er thou be, Who pledgest now thy gallant son; A shot, ere half thy draught be done, Hath still'd the life that beat from thee.

O mother, praying God will save Thy sailor,—while thy head is bow'd, His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud Drops in his vast and wandering grave.