Earth is our little island home,
⁠And Heaven the neighboring continent,
Whence winds to every inlet come,
⁠With balmiest scent.

And tenderest whispers thence we hear
⁠From those who lately sailed across;
They love us still; since Heaven is near,
⁠Death is not loss.

From mountain slopes of breeze and balm,
⁠What melodies arrest the oar;
What memories ripple through the calm!
⁠We'll keep near shore.