Again that tuneful sound
Swells o'er the watery plain;
How passing sweet are Zion's songs
Amid the stranger main.
Our vessel taught them to the winds
Along her venturous way,
And bade the lawless billows hush
In their tremendous play.
Throughout the broad expanse
No living thing is seen,
Except the stormy petrel's wing,
That flecks the blue serene.
Praise! Praise! methinks the hoariest surge
Might learn that lesson well,
Which even the infant zephyr's breath
To earth's frail flowers doth tell.
What though the tender thought
Of loved ones far away
Steals lingering to the moistened eye,
Mid prayer and chanting lay;
Yet trust in a Redeemer's word,
And hopes that blossom free,
And hallowed memories cling around
This Sabbath on the sea.
Sunday, August 9, 1840.
