eet lips I trow.

And mother--she sits in the cottage-door;
But her heart is out on the sea;
And she sighs, "Will my sailor-boy come no more?
Will he never come back to me?"

Ye winds that over the billows roam
With a low and sullen moan,
O swiftly come to waft me home;
O bear me back to my own.

For long have I been on the billowy deep,
On the boundless waste of sea;
And while I sleep there are two who weep,
And watch and pray for me.

When the mad storm roars till the stoutest fear
And the thunders roll over the sea,
I think of you, Mary and mother dear,
For I know you are thinking of me.

Then blow, ye winds, for my swift return;
Let the tempest roar o'er the main;
Let the billows yearn and the lightning burn;
They will hasten me home again.

MY DEAD

Last night in my feverish dreams I heard
A voice like the moan of an autumn sea,
Or the low, sad wail of a widowed bird,
And it said--"My darling, come home to me."

Then a hand was laid on my throbbing head--
As cold as clay, but it soothed my pain:
I wakened and knew from among the dead
My darling stood by my coach again.

DUST TO DUST

Dust to dust:
Fall and perish love and lust:
Life is one brief autumn day;
Sin and sorrow haunt the way
To the narrow house of clay,
Clutching at the good and just:
Dust to dust.

Dust to dust:
Still we strive and toil and trust,
From the cradle to the grave:
Vainly crying, "Jesus, save!"
Fall the coward and the brave,
Fall the felon and the just:
Dust to dust.

Dust to dust:
Hark, I hear the wintry gust;
Yet the roses bloom to-day,
Blushing to the kiss of May,
While the north winds sigh and say:
"Lo we bring the cruel frost--
Dust to dust."

Dust to dust:
Yet we live and love and trust,
Lifting burning brow and eye
To the mountain peaks on high:
From the peaks the ages cry,
Strewing ashes, rime and rust:
"Dust to dust!"

Dust to dust:
What is gained when all is lost?
Gaily for a day we tread--
Proudly with averted head
O'er the ashes of the dead--
Blind with pride and mad with lust:
Dust to dust.

Hope and trust:
All life springs from out the dust:
Ah, we measure God by man,
Looking forward but a span
On His wondrous, boundless plan;
All His ways are wise and just;
Hope and trust.

Hope and trust:
Hope will blossom from the dust;
Love is queen: God's throne is hers;
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