LAST SIGHT OF LAND

The clouds in woe hang far and dim:

I look again, and lo,

Only a faint and shadow line

Of shore — I watch it go.

The gulls have left the ship and wheel

Back to the cliff's gray wraith.

Will it be so of all our thoughts

When we set sail on Death?

And what will the last sight be of life

As lone we fare and fast?

Grief and the face we love in mist —

Then night and awe too vast?

Or the dear light of Hope — like that,

Oh, see, from the lost shore

Kindling and calling “Onward, you

Shall reach the Evermore!”