They have buried him there in the deep, deep sea.
The Minute Gun at Sea.
Let him who sighs in sadness hear,
Rejoice to know a friend is near!
What heavenly sounds are those I hear?
What being comes the gloom to cheer?
When in the storm on Columbia’s coast,
The night-watch guards his weary post,
From thoughts of danger free!
To mark some vessel’s dusky form,