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Ah! had he listened to the warning given,

His vessel's course had been a voice from heaven;
For He who minds the weaver at his loom,

And him who rambles where the meadows bloom,
Writes for the sailor on the ocean spray,
That like the swift ship hastes his life away.


And many a tempest past might well have told,
When still the anchor, faithful to its hold,
Had saved the body from the raging tide,
How blest the spirit that can calm confide
In that one anchor which shall never fail,
Stedfast and sure above, made firm "within the



Thus has a wise and ever equal hand
Diffused abroad on ocean and on land,
Wherever foot can stray or vessel bear,
Something to bid the heedless to beware;
And mind the Christian, on his heavenward way,
Of present help while here, and coming blissful day.



Oh, that our hearts were wise as God is good, And every place would yield our needful food!Our daily bread for body and for soul

Is scattered everywhere, from pole to pole;
And lest the blessing should escape our eyes,

One lamp is in our hand*—ten thousand in the skies.

* "Thy word is a lamp unto my feet."-PSALM CXIX. 105.



"Our light affliction which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory."2 COR. iv. 17.


He who is newly floating o'er

The bosom of the ocean,

And knows but little of the lore

That rules the vessel's motion,
Might dread a cross wind's mighty force,
And deem it would retard her course.


Not so the mariner well skilled

To mark the good ship's going; He loves to see the white sails filled

With transverse breezes blowing; For swiftly then,-most swiftly glides The vessel o'er the surging tides.


Even thus life's voyagers, who know
To win the sacred haven,
When seeming adverse tempests blow,
And other hearts were craven,
Hear but the strong propitious gales
That swell the homeward speeding sails.


In sweet security they rest

Above the heaving billow,

Calm as the babe upon the breast

Of love-its native pillow:

Each storm, they know, but wafts them o'er More swiftly to the peaceful shore.




Two bulbs upon my mantel-shelf
Affection's hand had placed;
Each with a long glass to itself,
Of short and slender waist.


A week or more in russet hue,
Like silent man and wife,
Each bulb remained, nor leaf in view
Appeared, nor sign of life.


At length full many a fibre shootsPledge of the floweret rareDirectly downward from the roots, And shows that life is there.

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