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  Judson's Grave  

 

He sleeps where the billow
    Lifts high its white crest
O'er his lone, sea-weed pillow
    On Ocean's dark breast;
No shroud is around him,
    No flowers bloom above,
No mourners surround him
    With grief-drops of love.

But the limitless ocean
    His requiem sings,
As, with tireless motion,
    The green billow springs
Toward the infinite heaven,
    Blue, bending above,
Where angels are watching
    His slumbers in love.

Oh! boundless his tomb is,
    Far-reaching, sublime,
Stretching forth in immenseness
    To every clime;
Thus boundless his love was,
    On every side
Spreading freely wherever
    Man sorrowed or died.

Sleep, Judson! no grave-dust
    Shall rest on thy head,
In sunlight or starlight
    No marble shall shed
Its shadow sepulchral
    Above thee,--no tomb
Save Earth's grandest and vastest,
    May give to thee room!

Man marks not thy pillow
    With yew-tree or stone;
But God, o'er the billow,
    Keeps watch of His own;
And glorious thy rising,
    O crowned one, will be,
When Jehovah shall summon
    His dead from the sea!

       - Mrs. J. C. Yule


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