Come friends and relations and neighbors, I pray
You will give your attention to the words I shall say,
0 poor Moses Dulmage I wish to relate,
How afloat on the waters he met his sad fate.

He shipped in the Julia [ 1 ], on the waters to sail,
At the end of Point Traverse they lay to, in a gale,
A number of vessels were anchored quite near,
He embarked in the yawl-boat, he thought not of fear.

He reached the Olivia [ 2 ], for an hour or two
He remained in friendly discourse with the crew,
At eleven that night he thought to return;
The danger before him he could not discern.

At home on those waters, no comrade had he,
The wind became louder, and high ran the sea,
To his friends on the vessel this appeal he did make,
"Oh, save me! I'm going out into the lake."

But the efforts were fruitless, of such as did try,
It seems as if Heaven had willed he should die;
All night and next day in the small open boat,
No doubt he toiled bravely to keep her afloat.

Near Stony Point lighthouse he steered her ashore,
His strength had quite failed, and he could not do more,
The spot was secluded, and no one passed by
Alone he had labored and alone he must die.

When two days had passed and the body was found,
On his face he was lying, to the seat he was bound.
He had thought of his friends, he had thought of his home,
Where to life and in strength he might never more come.

The oar he had wielded was lying near by,
But the ropes which secured him he could not untie
For his limbs were so weak, and his hands were so numb,
Oh that some friendly aid to him then might have come.

A grave they prepared him on that foreign shore,
And buried him kindly, they could not do more
But his friends could not suffer their loved one to stay
In the land of the stranger, from his kindred away.

So Captain John Walters, a true hearted friend,
Unto his removal did kindly attend;
And after long waiting his friends did behold
Their loved one who'd suffered such anguish untold.

Oh 'twas sad thus to see him and yet it was well,
One glance at the body such a story did tell;
It was sad thus to see him, and yet it was best,
For that smile on his features spoke surely of rest.

The dear hands so wounded with wielding the oar
Are folded, and never shall toil anymore;
No more shall he suffer affliction or pain,
He is gone to the rest we are striving to gain.

Other friends, loved as fondly have passed on before,
He is only another to wait at the door,
At the portal of mercy to welcome us in,
When we shall have triumphed o'er death and o'er sin.

May this be our portion, when life shall be o'er,
To meet all our loved ones on Heaven's fair shore,
To dwell with them ever and worship always,
The Father who giveth and taketh away.

Come friends and relations and neighbors I pray,
You will give your attention to the words I shall say,
Of poor Moses Dulmage, I wish to relate,
How, afloat on those waters he met his sad fate.

He shipped in the Julia, on the waters to sail.
At the end of Point Traverse they lay to in a gale,
A number of vessels were anchored quite near.
He embarked in his yawl-boat, he thought not of fear.

He reached the Olivia, for an hour or two,
And remained in a friendly discourse with her crew.
At eleven that night he thought to return,
The danger before him, he could not discern.

At home on those waters, no comrade had he,
The wind became louder and high ran the sea.
To his friends on the vessel, this appeal he did make,
Oh save me. I'm drifting out into the lake.

But the efforts were fruitless as such as did try,
It seemed as if Heaven had willed he should die.
All night and next day in that small open boat,
No doubt he toiled bravely to keep her afloat.

Near Stony Point lighthouse, he steered her ashore,
His strength had quite failed him, and he could not do more,
The spot was secluded, and no one passed by,
Alone he had labored, and alone he must die.

When two days had passed, the body was found,
On his face he was lying, to the seat he was bound
He had thought of his friends, he had thought of his home,
Where in life and in strength he might never more come.

The oar he had wielded was lying near by,
The rope which secured him, he could not untie.
For his limbs were so weak, and his hands were so numb.
Oh that some friendly aid to him then might have come.

A grave they prepared him, on that foreign shore,
And buried him kindly, they could not do more.
But his friends could not suffer their loved one to stay,
In the land of the stranger from his kindred away.

So Captain John Walters, a truehearted friend,
Unto his removal did kindly attend.
And after long waiting their friends did behold,
Their loved one who suffered such anguish untold.

It was sad thus to see him, and yet it was well,
On glance at the body, such a story did tell.
It was sad thus to see him, and yet it was best,
For that smile on his features, spoke surely of rest.
The dear hands so wounded with wielding the oar,
Are folded and never shall toil any more,
No more shall he suffer, affliction or pain,
He has gone to the rest, we are striving to gain.

Other friends loved as fondly, have passed on before,
He is only another, to wait at the door.
When we shall have triumphed o'er death and oe'r sin.

May this be our portion, when life shall be o'er,
To meet all our loved ones on Heaven's fair shore.
To dwell with them ever, and worship always,
The Father who giventh [sic] and taketh away.