My friends when my spirit is fled,
Ah, put me not bound, in the dark and cold ground,
Where light shall no longer be shed—be shed,
Where day-light no more shall be shed.
But lay me up scaffolded high—all high,
Chiefs lay me up scaffolded high,
Where my tribe shall still say, as they point to my clay,
He ne'er from the foe sought to fly—to fly,
He ne'er from the foe sought to fly.
And children, who play on the shore—the shore,