1 WHEN the parting bosom bleeds,
When our native shore recedes,
When the wild and faithless main
Takes us to her trust again,
Father! view a sailor's woe
Guide us wheresoe'er we go.
2 When the lonely watch we keep,
Silent on the mighty deep,
While the boisterous surges hoarse
Bear us daily on our course,
Eye that never slumbers! shed
Holy influence on our head.
3 When the Sabbath's peaceful ray,
O'er the ocean's breast doth play,
Though no throngs assemble there,
No sweet church-bell warns to prayer,
Spirit! let thy presence be
Sabbath to the unresting sea.
4 When in foreign lands we roam,
Far from kindred, far from home,
Stranger-eyes our conduct view,
Heathen-bands our steps pursue,
Let our conversation be
Fitting those who follow thee.
5 Should pale death, with arrow dread,
Make the ocean-cave our bed,
Though no eye of love might see
Where that shrouded grave shall be-
God! who hear'st the surges roll,^
Deign to save the sailor's soul.
Thanksgiving for Deliverance in a Storm.
1 OUR little bark, on boisterous seas,
By cruel tempests tossed,
Without one cheerful beam of hope,
Expecting to be lost,-
2 We to the Lord, in humble prayer,
Breathed out our sad distress;
Though feeble, yet with contrite hearts,
We begged return of
3 Then ceased the stormy winds to blow;
The surges ceased to roll;
And soon again a placid sea
Spoke comfort to the soul.
4 O, may our grateful, trembling hearts
Their hallelujahs, sing
To him who hath our lives preserved,—
Our Father and our King.
1 0 THOU who hast spread out the skies,
And measured the depths of the sea,
'Twixt heavens and ocean shall rise
Our incense of praises to thee.
2 We know that thy presence is near
While heaves our bark far from the land;-
We ride o'er the deep without fear;
The waters are held in thy hand.
3 Eternity comes in the sound
Of billows that never can sleep!
There's Deity circling us round, –
Omnipotence walks o'er the deep!
4 O Father, our eye is to thee,
As on for the haven we roll;
And faith in our Pilot shall be
An anchor to steady the soul.
Temptation compared to a Storm.
1 THE billows swell; the winds are high;
Clouds overcast my wintry sky :
Out of the depths to thee I call;
My fears are great, my strength is small.
2 O Lord, the pilot's part perform,
And guide and guard me through the storm;
Defend me from each threatening ill;
Control the waves: say, "Peace! be still."
1 PRAYER may be sweet in cottage homes,
Where sire and child devoutly kneel,
While through the open casement nigh
The vernal blossoms fragrant steal.
2 Prayer may be sweet in stately halls,
Where heart with kindred heart is blent,
And upward to th' eternal throne
The hymn of praise melodious sent.
3 But he who fain would know how warm
The soul's appeal to God may be,
From friends and native land should turn,
A wanderer on the faithless sea;
4 Should hear its deep, imploring tone
Rise heavenward o'er the foaming surge,
When billows toss the fragile bark,
And fearful blasts the conflict urge.
5 Naught, naught appears but sea and sky;
No refuge where the foot may flee:
How will he cast, O Rock divine,
The anchor of his soul on thee!
1 Nor in the church-yard shall he sleep,
Amid the silent gloom,-
His home was on the mighty deep,
And there shall be his tomb.
2 He loved his own bright, deep blue sea,
O'er it he loved to roam;
And now his winding sheet shall be
That same bright ocean's foam.
3 No village bell shall toll for him.
Its mournful, solemn dirge;
The winds shall chant a requiem
To him beneath the surge.
4 For him, break not the
grassy turf,
Nor turn the dewy sod;
His dust shall rest beneath the surf,
His spirit with its God.
1 WE come, O Lord, before thy throne,
And, with united pleas,
We meet and pray for those who roam
Far off upon the seas.
2 O, may the Holy Spirit bow
The sailor's heart to thee,
Till tears of deep repentance flow
Like rain-drops in the sea.
3 Then may a Saviour's dying love
Pour peace into his breast,
And waft him to the port above
Of everlasting rest.
National Hymn.
1 Mr country 't is of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrim's pride,
From every mountain side
Let freedom ring.
2 My native country, thee-
Land of the noble, free-
Thy name-I love;
I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills;
My heart with rapture thrills
Like that above.
3 Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees
Sweet freedom's song:
Let mortal tongues awake;
Let all that breathe, partake;
Let rocks their silence break,-
The sound prolong.
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