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    HE SLEEPS FAR AWAY. Lines occasioned by the death of Thomas Bixby

    who died
    in New Orleans, while on his passage to Europe, 1850.
    HHHH 79.2

    He sleeps far away from the home of his childhood,
    And the friends of his youth, on a far distant shore;
    They’ve buried him low near the “deep tangled wildwood,”
    Where wild sigh the winds and the deep waters roar;
    No brother, no sister is o’er his grave bending,
    But far, far away, tears of anguish they weep.
    Oh why his bright home did he leave, his way wending,
    The loved and the true, o’er the wide, trackless deep.
    HHHH 79.3

    He died in the midst of bright hopes that he cherished,
    In the pride of his manhood and glory and bloom;
    Far away from his birth-place and kindred he perished,
    And stranger hands laid him within the cold tomb.
    Noble, aspiring-he braved every danger,
    Nor feared the rude storm, or the tempest or wave,
    But he’s gone to his rest, where the unfeeling stranger,
    Unheeding and careless shall tread o’er his grave.
    HHHH 79.4

    When th’dark wing of death was thy manly form shading,
    And the future was shrouded in darkness and gloom,
    When dim grew thine eye, and thy cheek was fast fading,
    Didst thou sigh for some lov’d one to light the dark tomb?
    For thy kind, tender sister? and thy fond, cherished mother
    To ease thy pale brow with their soft, gentle hand?
    To see thy dear father, and thy fondly lov’d brother?
    And go to thy rest-in thine own native land?
    HHHH 80.1

    No more he’ll return to the home of his childhood;
    O’er ocean’s dark billow no more will he roam;
    For he rests far away, near the “deep tangled wildwood,”
    A sheltering port and a long quiet home.
    There rest: while we mourn, and while fond hearts are weeping,
    Thou art free from all sorrow and sickness and pain-
    There rest till thy God shall awake thee from sleeping;
    And in heaven’s bright land may we meet thee again.
    HHHH 80.2

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