 | THE SAILOR'S APPEAL. Water-drops |  |
32. THE SAILOR'S APPEAL.
Ho! dwellers on the stable land,
Of danger what know ye,
Like us who brave the whelming surge,
Or trust the treacherous sea?
The fair trees shade you from the sun,
You see the harvests grow,
And breathe the fragrance of the breeze
When the first roses blow.
You slumber on your beds of down,
Close wrapped, in chambers warm,
Lulled only to a deeper dream
By the descending storm:—
While high amid the slippery shroud,
We make our midnight path,—
And e'en the strongest mast is bowed
Beneath the tempest's wrath.
Yet still, what know ye of the joy
That lights our ocean strife,
Of danger what know ye,
Like us who brave the whelming surge,
Or trust the treacherous sea?
The fair trees shade you from the sun,
You see the harvests grow,
And breathe the fragrance of the breeze
When the first roses blow.
You slumber on your beds of down,
Close wrapped, in chambers warm,
Lulled only to a deeper dream
By the descending storm:—
While high amid the slippery shroud,
We make our midnight path,—
And e'en the strongest mast is bowed
Beneath the tempest's wrath.
Yet still, what know ye of the joy
That lights our ocean strife,
167
When on its way our gallant ship
Rides like a thing of life?
When gayly toward the wished-for port
With favoring wind we stand,
Or first your misty line descry,
Hills of our native land!
Know ye what danger waits our souls,
When, in that narrow bound,
The fiend Intemperance fiercely breathes
His fiery breath around?
No angel-comforters are near,
Our tempted hearts to stay,—
No blessed charities of home
To check our downward way.
There's deadly peril in our path
Beyond the wrecking blast,—
A peril that may reach the soul
When life's short voyage is past.
Send us your Bibles when we go
To dare the whelming wave,—
Your men of peace, to teach us how
To meet a watery grave.
Rides like a thing of life?
When gayly toward the wished-for port
With favoring wind we stand,
Or first your misty line descry,
Hills of our native land!
Know ye what danger waits our souls,
When, in that narrow bound,
The fiend Intemperance fiercely breathes
His fiery breath around?
No angel-comforters are near,
Our tempted hearts to stay,—
No blessed charities of home
To check our downward way.
There's deadly peril in our path
Beyond the wrecking blast,—
A peril that may reach the soul
When life's short voyage is past.
Send us your Bibles when we go
To dare the whelming wave,—
Your men of peace, to teach us how
To meet a watery grave.
168
And Saviour! thou whose foot sublime
The foaming surge did tread,—
Whose hand, the rash disciple drew
From darkness and the dead,—
Oh! be our Ark when floods descend,
When thunders shake the spheres,—
Our Ararat when tempests end,
And the green earth appears.
The foaming surge did tread,—
Whose hand, the rash disciple drew
From darkness and the dead,—
Oh! be our Ark when floods descend,
When thunders shake the spheres,—
Our Ararat when tempests end,
And the green earth appears.
| THE SAILOR'S APPEAL. Water-drops | |