THE SAILOR DYING AT SEA.

THE sailor laid him down to die,—
The faltering tongue and glassy eye
Bespoke the harbour near,—
But He that walked the stormy wave,
Dispelled the terror of the grave,
And love excluded fear.

"Tell mother," was his latest cry,
"In hope of pardoning grace I die,
Which God in Christ reveals;

Oh! tell what strength supports me now,
When death creeps chilly o'er my brow,
And fast my eyelids seals.

"Tell what a Saviour I have known,
Who welcomes sinners to His throne,
And makes the weak His care;

He raised up Peter when he fell,
And changed, upon the verge of hell,
The voice of scorn to prayer.

"My brother, shall we meet in heaven ? Oh yes, through sovereign grace forgiven, In blood-washed garments drest;

What glory for a guilty worm!

But Jesus sought me in the storm,
And beckoned me to rest.

THE DYING SAILOR.

There I shall see my mother's face,
Who led me to the throne of grace,
And taught me to adore.

Farewell, farewell!" He turned his head,
And with the angel-convoy sped

From Time's wreck-covered shore.

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J. LONGMUIR.

THE DYING SAILOR.

I AM dying! for my cold damp cheek
Is the sure sign of death,

And faintly and more faintly still
Is drawn my ebbing breath;
Raise me up, shipmates! let me look

My last upon the sea,

Within whose depths will soon be found

A resting-place for me,

A lowly grave,

Beneath the wave,

A resting-place for me.

I thought the sun that sank to-night

Before us in the west,

Would look upon that home on which
These eyes shall never rest;
And I gave a message to him
For all the dear ones there,

That I was thinking of them then,
And had been-everywhere!

My thoughts were theirs,

And all my prayers,
And had been-everywhere.

Shipmates! I've watched in turns with you
Through the long hours of sleep,
Or climbed the shrouds, or furled the sails,
Over the yawning deep;

The perils of presaging calms,

And when the tempest blew

I've shared with you; but now I'll keep

A long, long watch below

Through storms of night,
And hours of light,

A long, long watch below.

We're homeward bound-ere long our ship

Will anchor in the bay ;
But my voice will not join the shout

From our glad decks that day;

For, truthfully, my gasping lips

The fatal moment tell.

Come! cluster closely round me,——
Farewell! old mates, farewell!
I'm going fast

All-all-is past!

Farewell! old mates, farewell!

"Family Herald.”

S. S. F.

UNEXPECTED DEATH AT SEA.

319

UNEXPECTED DEATH AT SEA.

It is a gay and gallant ship that bravely breasts along,

She shoots before the freshening breeze, exulting

in its song;

The evening sun is struggling through the dim and dreary haze,

And yonder heavy lowering clouds grow blacker as we gaze.

The gallant bark, with flowing sail, her swift path bravely ploughs,

And in her wake the gay curlew each crested billow woos;

Now it basks awhile on some dreamy isle, then soaring mote-like forth,

It sails along in fearless glee to the realms of the dreary north!

And see, the snow-white albatross on his wild wing mounts on high,

Gleaming along like a silvery cloud on the brow of an April sky;

His dark-hued mate from her breezy lair bounds 'mid the flashing foam,

Outflying the storm and tempest's wrath, to find on the sea a home.

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Still swift the galley shoots along, on the wing of the freshening breeze,

Her glittering sides are gently washed by the spray of the feathery seas;

Her deck beams with the young and fair, the gallant and the gay,

And joy and gladness dance amid that beauteous array.

The day is past, the night lowers fast-the revel and the song,

The merry laugh, all die away those waters wild

among;

Youth, beauty, manhood's golden prime, are hushed in deep repose,

How few, alas! from that sweet sleep to consciousness ere rose!

It is the dead watch of the night! a loud and piercing cry

Rises from out the silent deep up to the lurid sky— No time to weep, no time to think, [scarce] time

for them to pray—

She heels, she sinks, and where she sank, now gleams the silvery spray!

JOHN HOWDEN.