Judson's Grave.

He sleeps where the billow         Lifts high its white crest     O'er his lone, sea-weed pillow         On Ocean's dark breast;     No shroud is around him,         No flowers bloom above,     No mourners surround him         With grief-drops of love.     But the limitless ocean         His requiem sings,     As, with tireless motion,         The green billow springs     Toward the infinite heaven,         Blue, bending above,     Where angels are watching         His slumbers in love.     Oh! boundless his tomb is,         Far-reaching, sublime,     Stretching forth in immenseness         To every clime;     Thus boundless his love was,         On every side     Spreading freely wherever         Man sorrowed or died.     Sleep, Judson! no grave-dust         Shall rest on thy head,     In sunlight or starlight         No marble shall shed     Its shadow sepulchral         Above thee, - no tomb     Save Earth's grandest and vastest,         May give to thee room!     Man marks not thy pillow         With yew-tree or stone;     But God, o'er the billow,         Keeps watch of His own;     And glorious thy rising,         O crowned one, will be,     When Jehovah shall summon         His dead from the sea!