THE MARINER'S THANKSGIVING PSALM. 291 Down as suddenly 'tis hurled To the abysses of the grave. To and fro they reel, they roll, Helm they quit, and hope resign. Then unto the Lord they cry, Calm and smooth the surges flow, God's own reconciling bow Metes the ocean with a span. Oh! that men would praise the Lord J. MONTGOMERY. THE BETHEL FLAG! [Ir was in Tecember 1816 that the crews of different vessels on the Thames began to meet together for prayer. Their first signal was a lantern at the peak-end; but, as the season advanced, this signal was of no use, and hence, in July 1817, the first BETHEL FLAG was hoisted. It bears, in the middle, the word "BETHEL;" in the upper corner, next to the halyards, a STAR; and, in the corner beneath, a Dove with an olive branch. There are now about FIVE HUNDRED vessels that carry such flags. May the number daily increase !] THE BETHEL FLAG we raise, To draw the sailor's eye,— To lead him to the house of praise, BETHEL, the house of God, STAR of the morning, shine, DOVE, with thine olive leaf, Brood o'er this house in peace; FREE as from ocean's breast The breeze our flag unfurls, THE MARINER'S SONG OF DELIVERANCE. 293 The gospel offers sailors rest Ere they the shore forsake, Far on the lonely deep, May they in Thee confide; Oh! may Thine eye, unknown to sleep, Returning, may they view This signal of Thy grace, And find, with joy, their bearings true, J. LONGMUIR. THE MARINER'S SONG OF DELIVERANCE. GLORY to Thee, whose powerful word Bids the tempestuous wind arise, Glory to Thee, the Sovereign Lord Of air, and earth, and seas, and skies! Let air, and earth, and skies obey, And seas thine awful will perform; From them we learn to own thy sway, What though the floods lift up their voice? Headlong we cleave the yawning deep, Roar on, ye waves! our souls defy Rage, while our faith the Saviour tries, Rise, while our God permits thee, rise; C. WESLEY. THE SAILOR'S HOME "O that for me some home like this would smile!"-(CAMPBELL.) A HOME for the sailor, the fearless and brave, The child of the tempest, the sport of the wave THE SAILOR'S HOME. 295 The spoils of the wide world he brings through the foam, And ask we not, what is the Mariner's Home? We picture his vessel a bird of the sea, But Truth sees him drenched on the wave-covered deck, Or lashed by the hail as he clings to the wreck, Or pillowed on sea-weed, and shrouded in foam; But in vain she looks round for the Mariner's Home! When the watch-call relieves his monotonous tramp, He hies to the forecastle, gloomy and damp; Benumbed he turns in from the frost and the foam, Where spare sails and cable-coils furnish his Home. But, hark! from the mast-head the outlook cries "Land!" And soon with his earnings he leaps on the strand; Oh, now could the friends of the wanderer come And gladden his eye with the sight of a Home! For quickly the "land-shark" approaches his prey, With guile on his lip, and his eye on the pay; |