The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury

Mr. Wesley, in his Journal, speaks in terms of the highest commendation respecting twenty-six Germans, members of the Moravian Church, who came to America in the same ship with himself. He continues, “There was now an opportunity of trying whether they were delivered from the spirit of fear as well as from that of pride, anger, and revenge. In the midst of the psalm wherewith their service began, the sea broke over, split the mainsail in pieces, covered the ship, and poured in between the decks as if the great deep had already swallowed us up. A terrible screaming began among the English. The Germans calmly sung on. I asked one of them afterwards, ‘Were you not afraid?’ He answered, ‘I thank God, no.’ I asked, ‘But were not your women and children afraid?’ He replied mildly, ‘No, our women and children are not afraid to die.’”—

Watson's Life of Wesley.

Strange forms and stranger minds and hearts were met
In the frail bark which bore a precious freight
To the new land of promise. Men had left
The scenes of childhood and the marts of wealth
To seek a home in the dim forest's shades,
Where, all unchecked by man's misguided power,
Their prayers might rise unfettered to their God.
'Twas one of those bright days when nature seems
To hold her quiet sabbath, when the earth
And sea are hushed in silence. The dark waves
Scarce laved the sides of the tall ship, and played
Around the keel in sportiveness. There stood
Within the humble cabin a small band
Of Hernhuth's lowly children; and thus rose
Their hymn of pure thanksgiving:—

Ancient of Days!
With meek and lowly hearts we come
To pour the exulting hymn of praise

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To thee, who led'st us from the home
Where our feet were wont to roam,
O'er the wild untrodden deep
Where the scaly monsters sleep.

Thy mighty will
Thy children in their peril saves,
The rushing winds are hushed and still,
And slumber bound the tumbling waves
Whose deep abysses yawn like graves.
To an infant world we bring
Tidings of a Heavenly King,
Wonders of thy power and grace,
Saviour of a fallen race!

Glory to God!
For within the trackless wild
Where foot of man has never trod,
Where never heaven-sent peace has smiled
On scenes by pagan rites defiled,
Soon our hymns with grateful note
On the fragrant breeze shall float,
And upon the air shall swell
That sweetest sound—the sabbath bell.

Hark! a loud crash,
A sudden wrenching of the lofty masts,
A burst of mighty winds and mountain waves.
On came the sea: gathering new strength it came,
Till on the reeling vessel full it broke,
Rending its very seams. Between the decks

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It rushed in fury, pouring its full tide,
Sweeping all things before it; then arose
The shriek of woman's terror, and the groan
That told man's sterner agony. Unmoved
The meek Hernhuthers stood: woman was there
With her calm placid brow; and childhood, too,
With sunny smiles yet lurking on its lip,
Though softened to that pleasant gravity
Which speaks the reverence of an unstained heart.—
A vague and indistinct, but holy fear:
Yet not an eyelid trembled, not a cheek
Blanched at this sight of terror; mothers prest
Their infants to their bosoms, as the wave
Curled foaming round their feet; and sires, too, raised
Their bright-haired boys above the briny stream;
But not a murmur rose. The hymn went on;
A moment it had paused, then rose again
The low, sweet voice, the deep, full tone—but changed
The spirit of the hymn:—

Maker of heaven and earth!
In peril's fearful hour we call on thee;
From thee the mighty elements have birth,
Thou mad'st, and thou canst still the raging sea.

Father, which art in heaven!
We are thy children, fashioned by thy hand,—
This fleeting breath of life by thee was given,—
As suppliants now before thy face we stand.

Son of the Father God!
Thou who didst walk unharmed upon the wave,

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Thou who, for us, didst kiss the avenging rod,
Hear now thy children's prayer, O! hear and save!

Redeemer of the world!
If thou hast doomed us to this bitter death,
If in the boiling strife of waters hurled,
We must resign to thee our struggling breath—

Grant us thy holy power
To turn unmoved from all that binds the heart,
To give ourselves to thee in peril's hour,
And as in faith we live, in faith depart!

The tempest-cloud had passed; the sudden burst
Of elemental fury had gone by;
And the waves leaped against the vessel's side
With a low moaning, like the murmured sounds
That mar the quiet slumbers of a child
Wearied with its waywardness. The hour
Of peril was forgotten; but one heart
Was troubled with its many doubts and fears,
And to the humble pastor of the flock
That looked so fearless on the face of death,
He came with anxious air: “Had you no fear
That thus your song was poured upon the winds,
When its wild rush was like the knell of death?”
“God rides the tempest; wherefore should we fear?”
Was the meek answer.—“But your wives, your babes,
Have they no terrors?”—“Surely not: they know
That God their Father rules the winds and waves;
They know that death but points the way to Him;
And who would shrink to meet a parent's face?”

University of Virginia Library

THE HYMN IN THE TEMPEST.