“And when these pretty shells I find,
Along the ocean strand,
Their beauteous finish brings to mind
Their Maker’s perfect hand.
“When on the wildest shore I’m thrown,
And far from human eye,
I think of him who made the stone,
And shell, and sea, and sky.
“For he ’s my friend, and I am his,
Though cold and rough the blast:
My safest guide I know he is,
Where’er my lot is cast.”
When Tom passed on, the children said,
“These treasures from afar
He brought us! Blessings on his head!
For he ’s a good Tom Tar!”
[THE SEAMAN’S HYMN.]
Landmen, on your downy pillows,
While your eyes are sealed in sleep,
Seamen, tossed ’mid foam and billows,
Roam, for you, a boisterous deep.
When the glorious light of day
Is on your homes so peaceful dawning,
Along our pathless, troubled way
The surge swells high, the flood is yawning.
When earth’s flowers to you are blooming,
Or your hearths are bright and warm;
We behold the wild waves booming,
Mount the shrouds, and brave the storm.
Singing birds your hearing greet—
Your hearts the kindred tone rejoices;
While winds, that on our canvass beat,
And roaring ocean join their voices.
Then, to meet the High and Holy,
When ye to his throne repair,
O before him, meek and lowly,
Bow for us, as suppliants there!
When his blessed day appears,
The dearest, best of all the seven,
Your souls the gospel herald cheers;
But none tells us of rest and heaven.