Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/211

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When in foreign lands we roam, Far from kindred and from home, Stranger-eyes our conduct viewing, Heathen-bands our steps pursuing, Let our conversation be, Fitting those who follow thee.

Should pale Death, with arrow dread, Make the ocean-caves our bed, Though no eye of love might see Where that shrouded grave shall be— Christ! who hear'st the surges roll, Deign to save the Sailor's soul.