Prayer is the burden of a sigh

Distinct as the billows, yet one as the sea.

The nursery of brooding Pelicans, The dormitory of their dead, had vanish'd, And all the minor spots of rock and verdure, The abodes of happy millions, were no more.

When the good man yields his breath (For the good man never dies).

Gashed with honourable scars, Low in Glory's lap they lie; Though they fell, they fell like stars, Streaming splendour through the sky.

Nature's prime favourites were the Pelicans; High-fed, long-lived, and sociable and free.

Once, in the flight of ages past, There lived a man.