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THE SAILORS HYMN |
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Thou art thinking of thy child, Thinking of life's cheerless wild— Heaven, my Father, 'will direct me, When thine arm cannot protect me! Then look not so sad to-day, Duty beckons me away—
Farewell!
Mother, weep not, though I roam From my early, happy home! Though thou miss my step at eve, Do not in my absence grieve; For, my Mother, I am blest, On another arm I rest! Ah ! thy sweet, maternal heart Swells, and breaks as I depart—
Farewell!
THE SAILOR'S HYMN.
Rudely dash the waves on high, Toward the darkly frowning sky; ' Vengeful tempests, full of wrath, Gather o'er our ocean path.
Such is life—a troubled way, Dark with clouds of dashing spray; Thus do passion's billows roll Fiercely o'er the human soul. |
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