High up here they rest, their long day’s work done,
Above the stark rocks that bastion the shore.
They are drench’d by the rain, warm’d by the sun,
Awaiting the day when Time is no more.
Coarse grass their coverlet, tansy of gold,
Rude cross their headstone, with “Pray for the soul,”
“Rest here in peace,” till the Book’s leaves unfold.
They rest as they lived, where the green breakers roll,
Where waves surge and thunder, surf dashes high;
Grey mist and chill rains watch over their sleep.
High over their beds the white seabirds cry,
Winds’ sough and seas’ moan are the dreich lullaby
Of souls that still cling to the shadowy deep.