But while we shrink from such a grave,
He rests as sweetly 'neath the wave
As though in Auburn's bowers he lay,
Where sunbeams through green branches play,
And roses, wet with tear drops, bloom
Around th' unconscious sleeper's tomb.
Let no rude wind, no angry storm,
The ocean's heaving breast deform,—
'Tis hallowed as dear Judson's bed,
Until the sea gives up its dead.