THE TRUSTING CHILD.
The good ship o'er the Ocean,
Glides on, where skies are bright,
And rolling waves right merrily
Propel her homeward flight;
But lo! the blast and tempest
Rush from their prisoning cell,
The rocky coast, frowns dark and dread,
The wintry surges swell.
'Tis night! Amid the breakers
The headlong vessel goes,
And shrieking, like a wounded man,
Strives with her vengeful foes;
Pale grows the boldest mariner,
For scarce the trumpet's cry
Is heard amid contending blasts,
Whose warfare shakes the sky.
How fearful is the tumult!
Hark, to the wailing prayer
That mingles with the deafening storm
Like hope amid despair;
Yet in the darken'd cabin
Rocked by the raging sea,
There calmly sat a beauteous boy,
Upon his mother's knee.
He sang a hymn of heaven,
Then spoke so sweetly mild,
"The Bible saith our Savior dear
Doth love the little child;
It telleth of a happy home
Beyond the stormy sky;
Mother! He'll take us there to dwell,
We're not afraid to die."
His brow was pure and peaceful
As the pearl beneath the deep,
When the booming battle thunders,
Across its bosom sweep;
Hoarse came the words of horror
From men of sinful life,
But innocence, with soul serene,
Beheld the appalling strife.
Lo! the black clouds are breaking,
The winds remit their force,
The shatterd bark retrims her sails
And slowly holds her course;
The wearied men are faint, as they
Who with giant foes have striven,
But the trusting child, as he gently smiled
Seem'd like a guest from Heaven.