We have fled from the shrieks of the mighty in death,
From the battle's rage and the victor's breath;
We have been at the grave—at the infant's birth;
We know all the cares of the children of earth.
"Our wail is heard o'er the mighty deep,
In whose breast the loved and lost ones sleep,
When, sweeping in rage, the hurricane blast
Tosses to heaven the waters vast.
When we bear o'er the foaming and dashing main
The voices that ne'er will be heard again;