One tear, which falls in grateful dew,
Is worth the best of Britain’s treasures.
And sure, the thought will bring relief,
What e’er your fate, wherever rove you,
Your wealth’s not given by pain and grief,
But hands that know, and hearts that love you.
May He, who bade you cross the wave,
Through care for Afric’s sons and daughters;
When round your bark the billows rave,
In safety guide you through the waters!