Then let us not the Ewe forget
When winter bleak doth hover;
When rains descend—and we safe set—
Let us be grateful to her.
Her cloak to us is comfort great
When by the ditch she trembles;
Let us then give her the best beat
For her abode and rambles.
THE SONG OF THE FISHERMAN’S WIFE.
By Rev. John Blackwell, B.A.
Restless wave! be still and quiet,
Do not heed the wind and freshet,
Nature wide is now fast sleeping,
Why art thou so live and stirring?
All commotion now is ending,
Why not thou thy constant rolling?
Rest thou sea! upon thy bosom
Is one from whom my thoughts are seldom,
Not his lot it is to idle,
But to work while he is able;
Be kind to him, ocean billow!
Sleep upon thy sandy pillow!
Wherefore should’st thou still be swelling?
Why not cease thy restless heaving?
There’s no wind to stir the bushes,
And all still the mountain breezes:
Be thou calm until the morning
When he’ll shelter in the offing.
* * * * *
Deaf art thou to my entreaty,
Ocean vast! and without mercy.
I will turn to Him who rules thee,
And can still thy fiercest eddy:
Take Thou him to Thy protection
Keep him from the wave’s destruction!