Edwin Hubbell Chapin 1839
Edward Hubbell Chapin was a well known Universalist clergyman from Boston. He studied law at Tufts University, but was ordained as a Universalist in 1838. He published the poem “The Ocean-Buried” in the Southern Literary Messsenger in 1839. About 4 months after publication of the poem the steamboat “Lexington” caught fire and sank sending 140 people to the bottom of Long Island Sound. Chapin used his poem as a outline for a sermon on the burning of the ship and the tragedy of folks consigned to unmarked watery graves. He preached on the topic at least twice in 1840 and the sermon was included in a book he published in 1846.
Nightingale: Bury Me Not in the Deep Deep Sea
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VxJOTiSWJ5g
Bury me not in the deep, deep sea! The words came faint and mournfully, Form the pallid lips of a youth, who lay On the cabin couch, where, day by day, He had wasted and pined, til o’er his brow The death shade had slowly passed–and now, When the land and his fond-loved home were nigh, They gathered around him to see him die. “Bury me not in the deep deep sea, Where the billowy shroud will roll over me– Where no light can break through the dark cold wave, And no sunbeam rest sweetly upon my grave. ‘It boots not’ I know I have oft been told ‘Where the body shall lie when the heart is cold’– Yet grant ye, oh! grant ye this boon to me, Bury me not in the deep, deep sea! “For in fancy I’ve listened to well known words– The free, wild wind, and the song of birds– I have thought of home, of cot and bower, And of scenes that I loved in childhood’s hour. I have ever hoped to be laid, when I died, In the church-yard there on the green hill side– By the bones of my fathers my grave should be– Bury me not in the deep, deep sea! “Let my death slumber be where a mother’s prayer And a sister’s tears can be blended there. Oh! ’twill be sweet, ere the heart’s throb is o’er, To know when its fountain shall gush no more, That those it so fondly has yearned for will come To plant the first wild-flowers of spring on my tomb. Let me lie where the loved-ones can weep over me– Bury me not in the deep, deep sea. “And there is another–her tears would be shed For him who lay far in an ocean-bed. In hours that it pains me to think of now, She hath twined these locks and kissed this brow– In the hair she hath wreathed shall the sea-snake hiss? The brow she hath pressed shall the cold wave kiss?– For the sake of that bright one who waits for me, Bury me not in the deep, deep sea. “She hath been in my dreams.” His voice failed there. They gave no heed to his dying prayer. *ÿ ÿ *ÿ ÿ *ÿ ÿ *ÿ ÿ *ÿ ÿ *ÿ ÿ *ÿ ÿ * They have lowered him slow o’er the vessel’s side– Above him hath closed the solemn tide. Where do dip her wing the wild fowl rests– Where the blue waves dance with their foamy crests– Where the billows bound and the winds sport free– They have buried him there in the deep, deep sea.
