Classic Poem

I'm going on the stormy wave,
I soon will tread a distant shore;
A foreign land may be my grave—
And, sister, we may meet no more!

But should I at an early age,
Far, far away, be doomed to die,
I know thou'lt often seek this page,
And read these lines with tearful eye.

Yet truce to sadd'ning thoughts like these!
I did not mean to give thee pain;
Nay, more, I feel that heav'n decrees
Dear sister, we shall meet again!