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 a 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!”