The kings of old to Valhalla sailed to sea
their deeds on earth sealed in combs of fire.
No stone and chisel mark their final rest,
their war, their wounds, their quiet victory pride.
The round sea is their grave, the land a tomb,
and graven markers are their children's hearts.
This were enough if here thy dust were ended.
But if a farther plain of glory roll
voyaged only by the valiant and the good,
then thy passage is secure, expended
by thy strength, by truth, and by thy giving soul.
Then may we know thee more; and if ye tarry
ever on this rugged strand then see
within our breasts we keep a light for thee.