freedom, Of the patience born of hope. 

 For among these humble toilers, From the grasping instinct free, Still we find the cheerful-hearted, Earnest, honest Switzer people With the old simplicity. 

 

 

 Burial at Sea 

 'Twas midnight in the southern seas And windless. On the placid deep Flashed sparkling phosphorescences, While moonbeams, bright in silver bars, Lay like a pathway to the stars. 

 Tireless, our engines, day and night, A month had throbbed their endless round Without a pause to mark time's flight. We heard it all unconsciously Till suddenly it ceased to be. 

 For now the slowing pulse that beat, Stopped in the vessel's iron breast And quickly changed my slumber sweet To wandering and uneasy thought Of what the midnight might have brought. 

 Gaining the deck, I looked around With drowsy eyes and half asleep, And saw a something wrapped and bound And weighted. I was standing near Some hapless seaman's simple bier. 

 A shapeless form in canvas lay, Stretched on a wooden grating low, Waiting the word to pass away Into the silent depths of sea And boundless realm of fantasy. 

 Before the bulwark's opening stood A group about a lantern's light Moveless like figures carved in wood, Whilst one with gruff solemnity, Read prayers for those who die at sea. 

 Then at the end, with sudden leap, That sent the sparkling water high, The body plunged into the deep Amid a million points of light That glittered as it sank from sight. 

 Scarce had a moment passed, before The men with silent haste had gone: The engines plied their task, once more, The ship her steady course pursued Across the moonlit solitude. 

 The morning dawned, the hours passed by And life on board from day to day Was changeless as the sea and sky. And so unreal the memory seemed I wondered if I had not dreamed. 

 

 

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