When the weary day at last With its cares and strife is past;
When I lay me down to sleep, While the angels vigils keep,
Comes an echo far away Of the doings of the day.
Ere my weary eyelids close, Ere my being seeks repose.
Comes a voice from far away: “What hast thou performed this day?”
Yes the air is full of spirits, Many does each man inherit.
But at night each one will say: “What hast thou performed this day?”
Ere my weary eyelids close; Ere I calmly seek repose,
Comes an echo far away: “What hast thou performed this day?”
The seagull screamed and flopped his wings And hied him to his home; The breakers dashed upon the shore-- Their crests were filled with foam.
The briny mounts were thrown on high Where reeled a ship; the gale Had shorn her of her masts, and torn In shreds each flying sail.
Alas! a wail comes o’er the deep-- The ship is sinking fast-- The mighty mountains of the sea Are aided by the blast.
’Tis morn again, the rosy morn The storm at sea is o’er; The elements are calm and still; The wreck is on the shore.
Then take good care in future life, While near the billows roll;-- Take care lest your own self be lost By shipwreck of your soul.
Then never let the breakers roll To whelm the bark within, As in the world you sail around The blackened sea of sin.
It was in Africa’s torrid clime, Two sisters stood alone, And what they witnessed was a sight To melt a heart of stone.
The English came and carried off One sister, far away; And now in London’s haunts she stands And sorrows all the day.
They took her from her native spot, Where she was wont to stand, And placed her in a foreign clime, Within a foreign land.
Ah! how she feels, with other eyes Than on bright Egypt’s shore;-- She stands where she had never been-- To stand for evermore.
The others came with iron bonds, Her sister, too, they brought, To grace America’s bright parks Where pity ne’er was thought.
Ah! yes, in New York city’s haunts That sister is to be; Between the two the waters lie-- A dark and stormy sea.
Ah! now when I to Egypt’s plains Do wend my careful way, I’ll seek the spot where once they stood, And there respect I’ll pay.
But, oh, the beauties will be gone-- The sisters are not there, Insulted by a grosser race, They stand where naught is fair.