Roden Berkeley Wriothesley Noel (1834–1894)

THEY are waiting on the shore

For the bark to take them home;

They will toil and grieve no more;

The hour for release hath come.

All their long life lies behind,

Like a dimly blending dream;

There is nothing left to bind

To the realms that only seem.

They are waiting for the boat,

There is nothing left to do;

What was near them grows remote,

Happy silence falls like dew;

Now the shadowy bark is come,

And the weary may go home.

By still water they would rest,

In the shadow of the tree;

After battle sleep is best,

After noise tranquillity.