Why care for these dead bodies? They really have no friends but the worms or fishes. Their owners were coming to the New World, as Columbus and the Pilgrims did,—they were within a mile of its shores; but, before they could reach it, they emigrated to a newer world than ever Columbus dreamed of, yet one of whose existence we believe that there is far more universal and convincing evidence—though it has not yet been discovered by science—than Columbus had of this; not merely mariners’ tales and some paltry drift-wood and sea-weed, but a continual drift and instinct to all our shores. I saw their empty hulks that came to land; but they themselves, meanwhile, were cast upon some shore yet further west, toward which we are all tending, and which we shall reach at last, it may be through storm and darkness, as they did. No doubt, we have reason to thank God that they have not been “shipwrecked into life again.” The mariner who makes the safest port in Heaven, perchance, seems to his friends on earth to be shipwrecked, for they deem Boston Harbor the better place; though perhaps invisible to them, a skillful pilot comes to meet him, and the fairest and balmiest gales blow off that coast, his good ship makes the land in halcyon days, and he kisses the shore in rapture there, while his old hulk tosses in the surf here. It is hard to part with one’s body, but, no doubt, it is easy enough to do without it when once it is gone. All their plans and hopes burst like a bubble! Infants by the score dashed on the rocks by the enraged Atlantic Ocean! No, no! If the _St. John_ did not make her port here, she has been telegraphed there. The strongest wind cannot stagger a Spirit; it is a Spirit’s breath. A just man’s purpose cannot be split on any Grampus or material rock, but itself will split rocks till it succeeds. The verses addressed to Columbus, dying, may, with slight alterations, be applied to the passengers of the _St. John:_— “Soon with them will all be over, Soon the voyage will be begun That shall bear them to discover, Far away, a land unknown. “Land that each, alone, must visit, But no tidings bring to men; For no sailor, once departed, Ever hath returned again. “No carved wood, no broken branches, Ever drift from that far wild; He who on that ocean launches Meets no corse of angel child. “Undismayed, my noble sailors, Spread, then spread your canvas out; Spirits! on a sea of ether Soon shall ye serenely float! “Where the deep no plummet soundeth, Fear no hidden breakers there, And the fanning wing of angels Shall your bark right onward bear. “Quit, now, full of heart and comfort, These rude shores, they are of earth; Where the rosy clouds are parting, There the blessed isles loom forth.”