Page:Poems for the Sea.djvu/82

78 There the eye of God doth turn, There the lamp of soul doth burn. Roofs! that nurse this deathless light, Precious are ye in His sight.

Throngs! I see ye on the strand, As the steamer nears the land, Some might fortune's favourites seem, Borne on pride or pleasure's stream; Others, marked by weary care, Labor's rugged livery wear; Ye, who humbly dig the soil, Brow and hand embrowned by toil, If ye eat my country's bread, If to work her weal ye tread, Faithful even in lowest sphere, Friends ye are, like kindred dear.

Since I last these scenes surveyed, Who have in the tomb been laid? Who, the bitter tear have shed, O'er the bosom of the dead?