My mariners–souls that have toiled and wrought and thought with me; That ever with a frolic welcome took the thunder and the sunshine and oppos’d.
Free hearts, free foreheads, you and I are old. . . .
Death closes all.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks. The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep moans round with many voices.
Come, my friends, ‘t is not too late to seek a newer world. . . .
Though much is taken, much abides. And though we are not now that strength which in old days mov’d heaven and earth, that which we are, we are:
One equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will to strive, to seek, to find, and yet, not to yield.
Above all, the David I knew was kind, adamant in his beliefs, but without judgment. His three children, all slightly younger than my sister and I, are an intermittent–but dependable–source of joy in my life.