me so!
I would you were sleeping where grows the grass and the musical reed!
For how can you find a repose in the toss of the tangle and weed?

The night sped along, and I strained to the shadow and saw to the end
My captain and bird--he remained to the death a superlative friend:
In the face of the hurricane wild, he clung with the babe to the mast;
To the last he was true to my child--he was true to my child to the last.

The wind, like a life without home, comes mocking at door and at pane
In the time of the cry of the foam--in the season of thunder and rain,
And, dreaming, I start in the bed, and feel for my little one's brow--
But lost is the beautiful head; the cradle is tenantless now!

My home was all morning and glow when wife and her baby were there,
But, ah! it is saddened, you know, by dresses my girl used to wear.
I cannot re-enter the door; its threshold can never be crossed,
For fear I should see on the floor the shoes of the child I have lost.

There were three of us once in the world; but two are deep down in the sea,
Where waif and where tangle are hurled--the two that were portions of me;
They are far from me now, but I hear, when hushed are the night and the tide,
The voice of my little one near--the step of my wife by my side.

Sydney Exhibition Cantata

Part I

_Chorus_

Songs of morning, with your breath
Sing the darkness now to death;
Radiant river, beaming bay,
Fair as Summer, shine to-day;
Flying torrent, falling slope,
Wear the face as bright as Hope;
Wind and woodland, hill and sea,
Lift your voices--sing for glee!
Greet the guests your fame has won--
Put your brightest garments on.

_Recitative and Chorus_

Lo, they come--the lords unknown,
Sons of Peace, from every zone!
See above our waves unfurled
All the flags of all the world!
North and south and west and east
Gather in to grace our feast.
Shining nations! let them see
How like England we can be.
Mighty nations! let them view
Sons of generous sires in you.

_Solo--Tenor_

By the days that sound afar,
Sound, and shine like star by star;
By the grand old years aflame
With the fires of England's fame--
Heirs of those who fought for right
When the world's wronged face was white--
Meet these guests your fortune sends,
As your fathers