[Here is a poem of Bill Adams from the pages of Short Stories dated September 25, 1928. It’s a sailor’s prayer that I thought you’d enjoy. After the jump.]
OLD TEMPLE OF THE DEEP
DON’T want no one sayin’ over me, “Peace to his ashes.”
I hopes my mates will bury me at sea
Where long white rollers splashes.
I wants no daisies growin’ on my grave,
Nor withered roses droopin’ in a jar.
I wants the long slow sing-song of the wave,
The murmurous old sea, the gleamin’ star, Above me. When time of purgatory is over
An’ I have lain long sleepin’ in the deep
I wants to rise, on wide white wings to hover
An’ down the glory of the gale to sweep.
I wants to be a sea bird, wingin’ free Wild summits of old ocean’s majesty.
Some say as sailors’ spirits does live on
In forms o’ sea birds when their days is done;
An’ if it’s so, then I says God is kind
An’ understands the longings of our minds.
The saints an’ angels an’ the cherubims
Can have their golden streets an' harps an’ hymns.
If He leaves us old ocean an’ its ways,
We from its vales will ever give Him praise.