1 As o'er the vasty deep we sail, Through sultry calm, or whirling gale, I dream of hill and bird and tree, I dream, Emilia dear, of thee, And aches my heart, and to my eyes The bitter tears, uncalled, arise. 2 Others have said these things before, Others will say them evermore; In every sphere of busy life, In every age, to work or strife Man goeth forth o'er land and sea, And partings such as ours must be. 3 Emilia, dear, beloved one, Our refuge is in God alone; When anguish wrings the stricken soul, And blackness wraps it in its stole, And almost seems it we must die, Light -- strength -- balm come from Him on high. |