And with a rigid dying grasp, he closely held me fast,
Even as he held me when he seized, at midnight, on the mast.
With humble hearts and streaming eyes, down knelt the little band,
Praying Him, who had preserved their lives, to lend his guiding hand.
And day by day, though burning thirst and pining hunger came,
His mercy, through our misery, preserved each drooping frame:
And after months of weary wo, sickness, and travel sore,
He sent the blessed English ship that took us from that shore.
And now, without a house or friend, I wander far and near,
And tell my miserable tale to all who lend an ear.