The still, wide waters sweep clear and cold,

A tall mast crosses a star in the west,

A white sail gleams in the west world's gold:

It leans to the shore of the River of Rest—

The lily-lined shore of the River of Rest.

The boatman rises, he reaches a hand,

He knows you well, he will steer you true,

And far, so far, from all ills upon land,

From hates, from fates that pursue and pursue;

Far over the lily-lined River of Rest—