And so, ’mid the strife
On the flood-waves of life,
To Heaven in our ark lowly bending
For help would we cry,
Till the dove, from on high,
Appears with the peace-branch descending.
Thus, we’ve friend, love, and home,
Wheresoe’er we may roam
The wide seas, from pole to equator—
We ’ve a light, and high-tower,
In the name and the power
Of him, who is ocean’s Creator.
[THE SEA-EAGLE’S FALL.]
An Eagle, on his towering wing,
Hung o’er the summer sea;
And ne’er did airy, feathered king
Look prouder there than he.
He spied the finny tribes below,
Amid the limpid brine;
And felt it now was time to know
Whereon he was to dine.
He saw a noble, shining fish
So near the surface swim,
He felt at once a hungry wish
To make a feast of him.
Then straight he took his downward course;
A sudden plunge he gave;
And pouncing, seized, with murderous force,
His tempter in the wave.
He struck his talons firm and deep,
Within the slippery prize,
In hope his ruffian grasp to keep;
And high and dry to rise.