A DEATH AT SEA.

Dead in the sheep-pen he lies,

Wrapped in an old brown sail.

The smiling blue sea and the skies

Know not sorrow nor wail.

Dragged up out of the hold,

Dead on his last way home,

Worn-out, wizened, a Chinee old,—

O he is safe — at home!

Brother, I stand not as these

Staring upon you here.

One of earth's patient toilers at peace

I see, I revere!