Page:Pleasant Memories.pdf/22

Whose tombs are where the coral grows,
    And the sea-monsters lie.

It is a blessed thing
    In God's own courts to stand,
And hear the pealing organ swell,
    And join the prayerful band;
Yet who in full dependence feels
    That One above can save,
Until his fleeting life he throws
    Upon the faithless wave?

It is a blessed thing
    To heed the Sabbath chime,
And on'neath summer foliage walk
    To keep the holy time;
Yet who hath all devoutly praised
    Him, who his breath hath kept,
Until the strong unpitying surge
    Raged round him while he slept?

Earth, the indulgent nurse,
    With love her son doth guide,
His safety on her quiet breast
    Begets an inborn pride;
But Ocean, king austere,
    Doth mock his trusting gaze,
And try the fabric of the faith,
    By which on Heaven he stays.