Yet who hath all devoutly praised the Friend his breath that kept,
Until the unpitying mountain-surge roam'd round him while he slept?
Earth, the indulgent mother-nurse, with love her son doth guide,
His safety, on her quiet breast, begets an inborn pride;
But Ocean, like a king austere, doth mock his trusting gaze,
And test the fabric of the faith, by which on Heaven he stays.
Hark! hark! again a tuneful sound floats o'er the watery plain,—
How passing sweet are Zion s songs amid the stranger-main;
We taught their praise to echoing winds along our venturous way,
And to the billows as they toss'd in their tremendous play.
"I know that my Redeemer lives!" O Soul! how great thy bliss,
If in thine inmost casket dwells a gem so pure as this.
Be patient neath the darkest cloud, be glad whate'er betide;
"I know that my Redeemer lives"—what needs t thou know beside?
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DIVINE WORSHIP ON THE SEEP.
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