A WEEK AT PITCAIRN. 293 
Adams, with whom Mr. Holman lives. In the 
evening, it being a beautiful moonlight night, 
we all met m front of the house where the 
organ is kept. The Islanders then sang several 
hymns and touching melodies, one of which, 
from its simple pathos, and from the exquisite 
manner in which it was sung, to the tune of 
" Long, long ago," I believe I shall never forget. 
THE SAILOR-BOY'S EARLY GRAVE. 
Shed not a tear o'er your friend's early bier, 
When I am gone, when I am gone ; 
Nor, if the slow-toiling bell you should hear, 
When I am gone, when I am gone. 
Weep not for me when you stand round my grave, 
Think Who has died, His beloved to save ; 
Think of the crown all the ransom'd shall have, 
When I am gone, when I am gone. 
Plant ye a tree, which may wave over me, 
When I am gone, when I am gone. 
SiDg ye a song, if my grave you should see, 
When I am gone, when I am gone. 
Come at the close of a bright summer's day — 
Come when the sun sheds his last ling' ring ray ; 
Come, and rejoice that I thus pass'd away, 
When I am gone, when I am gone. 
Plant ye a rose that may bloom o'er my bed, 
When I am gone, when I am gone ; 
Breathe not a sigh for the bless'd early dead, 
When I am gone, when I am gone. 
Praise ye the Lord, that I'm free from all care, 
Love ye the Lord, that my bliss ye may share ; 
Look ye on high, and believe I am there, 
When I am goDe, when I am gone. 
The voices of the Islanders are both powerful 
and sweet ; and the thrill of rare and unexpected 
pleasure I experienced on hearing them sing 
the above song, was never surpassed, not even 
