THE PILOT.

The curling waves with awful roar

A little boat assailed,

And pallid fear’s distracting power

O’er all on board prevailed,—

Save one, the captain’s darling child,

Who steadfast viewed the storm,

And, fearless, with composure smiled

At danger’s threatening form.

“And fear’st thou not?” a seaman cried,

“While terrors overwhelm?”

“Why should I fear?” the child replied,

“My father’s at the helm.”

Thus when our earthly hopes are reft,

Our earthly comforts gone,

We still have one sure anchor left—

God helps, and He alone.

He to our cries will lend an ear,

He gives our pangs relief,

He turns to smiles each trembling tear,

To joy each torturing grief.

Turn, turn to Him, ’mid sorrows wild,

When terrors overwhelm,

Remembering, like the fearless child,

Our Father’s at the helm.