“Youth, manhood, old age, past,
Come to thy God at last!”
The pilot heard his native bells
Hang on the breeze in fitful swells.
“Thank God!” with reverent brow he cried:
“We make the shore with evening’s tide.”
“Come to thy God in time!”
It was his marriage-chime.
Youth, manhood, old age, past,
His bell must ring at last.