In the South Pacific

A vision of a savage land,     A glimpse of cloud-ringed seas;     A moonlit deck, a murderous hand;     No more, no more of these!     No more! how heals the tender flesh,     Once torn by savage beast?     The wound, re-opening, bleeds afresh,     Each season at the least!     O day, for dawn of thee how prayed     The spirit, sore distressed;     Thy latest beams, upslanting, made     A pathway for the blest.     And robes, new-donned, of the redeemed,     Gleamed white past griefs dark pall:     So this, a day of death which seemed,     A birthday let us call.     Remembering, such day as this,     A soul from flesh was shriven,     By death, Gods messenger of bliss;     A spirit entered Heaven.     Thy dying head no loving breast     Upheld, O early slain;     But soon, mid welcoming saints, twas prest     Where Gods own Child has lain!     Though none at death broke Bread for thee,     Or poured the Sacred Wine;     Thou, nourished at His Board, dost see     The Substance of the Sign.     We mourned thee! Heavens new born, and rich     Past all our prayers could claim,     Secure in blessedness, of which     We have not learnt the name.