Yet if thou hast through blood Divine
Entered the land of sweet repose,
I hope its happiness is thine—
Yet God and thee the secret knows.
To judge thy faults we are forbid,
For we are dust defiled in sin;
And where the Spirit goes 'tis hid
From those that live this world within.
Thou told me once that I might say
Thy soul was gone with Christ to dwell,
But thou art dead and gone away—
I know not if to heaven or hell.
And now thy songs have ceased to thrill
Alike the youthful and the fair,
Yet some may be remembered still
By old men withered up and sere.
Farewell, poor bard! thy thrilling song
Alas, had but few charms for me.
And thou art gone to dwell among
The beings of eternity.
Since thou art laid beneath the sod.
We'll not review thy failings here;
We leave thy faults and deeds with God,
Who gives more kindly judgment there.
Note. — Shimmin was a well-known man of great powers and talent. He lived in the south west part of the Island, and composed many songs in Manx. His fame still lingers in the memory or the old people. He was held to be very eccentric and erratic.
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