Those joyous dying words, "A sail! a sail!
I'm sav'd," and hurried back to comfort him;
But wist not that the "sail" his spirit saw
Was God's own ark, propell'd by angel wings
Towards the Ocean of Eternity.
"Ah well!" she said; "poor Enoch! he is gone;
God rest his soul: give him more joy in Heaven
Than he had found on earth,—at least of late:
I thought he had not long to linger here,
The sea made such a moaning all the night: