Good-night, beloved; the light is slowly dying
From wood and field; and far away the sea
Moans deep within its bosom. Is it sighing
For those whose rest can never broken be;
For those who found their way to God; yet never
Beneath green sod may rest, the sea holds them for ever?
Yes, deep and still your grave; the ocean keeping
Whate’er it gains for ever in its hold.
I know that in its depths you now are sleeping,
Quiet and dreamless as in churchyard mould;