Where monsters of the ocean creep,
'Round him o'er whom the nations weep.
No stone directs the stranger's eye
To where his sacred relics lie,
Nor can the weeping Burmans come
To shed their tears around his tomb.
And when their work on earth is done,
No mourning daughter, wife, or son
Can rest from toil the weary head,
Beside him in his ocean bed.