The towering billows thundering as they break,
Making the very universe to quake;

Shall seem as harmless, in their giant roar,

As when they die in ripples on the shore.

The mariner, who erst would watch the heaven, As on its margin fearful signs were given;

Who snuffed the coming storm, and bade his crew,
Stand to their duty, death was in their view;

Whose rugged breast, though bared to many a gale,
Throbbed with strange fear, as wind and storm assail;
Now lists unscared, the music of the deep,
As the fierce hurricanes its bosom sweep.
Though on the dizzy summit of the wave,
Or in the sea-trough, yawning like a grave,
His sportive bark, now high, now low, appears;
Calmly he sings, nor death nor danger fears.

Yes; while the ocean-storm in thunder raves;

And piping winds sigh 'mong the deep toned waves; Hark! from amid the gloom and stunning roar, Sounds the sweet hymn of pious mariner.

That awful ocean then no frowns shall wear; Nor life devour, when God 's the Guardian there. No rock the wary mariner shall fear;

No breakers pour the death-cry on his ear;

No chart misguide-no quick-sand dash his bark,
Safe shall it ride, as once the sheltered ark.

No maiden's heart shall then be torn with fears;

No matron tremble as the storm appears;

All be secure, though warring winds may rave;
No seaman then shall fear a watery grave.

But why should tempests, in that brighter age, Howl through the earth, or on the ocean rage?

Why not Ausonian gales and zephyrs bland,
Fan the smooth sea, and revel on the land?

It may be so. But then must nature change;
Then must the Deity his works derange:
Or all be made anew; remodelled all,

The form and features of this earthly ball.
And why, with equal reason we demand,
Shall works so perfect, shall a world so grand;
Works which Omnipotence, with wondrous skill,
Conceived, and formed and garnished to His will;
Why should these wonders cease; why all things new?
When all is now, so glorious to the view?

Give me a soul to feel, an eye to see,

In every leaf a present Deity;

Let me, my Lord! Thy mystic foot-step trace

On earth, in air, in sea, in every place;

And rugged nature-wildest scenes, shall be
Fraught with the charms of Paradise to me.
Yes; I'll adore Thee in the tempest dire,
And hail Thy footsteps in the lightning's fire.
My soul secure shall walk the stormy main,
If on her path a glimpse of Thee she gain.

The bursting crater vomiting its fires,
Falls on th' affrighted eye, and fear inspires.
But why? Because its burning torrent flows

A death wave, over thousands

as it

goes.

Still do those furnace-fires in mercy glow;

Though some may suffer, more are saved from woe.

So, in the tempest's wrath, while few are slain, Millions are saved from famine, plague, and pain.

But in that coming age of glory, all that 's ill Shall be no more. Good only Heaven shall will.

Volcanic fires may still illume the night; Tornadoes sweep; and ocean rise in might; Nought shall molest, no fear invade the mind; Volcano, sea, and tempest God shall bind,

"T were a blessed vision to the glowing heart, To see a paradise of beauties start,

Where all was drear, and desert, lone and dry: Oh 't were a vision dear to Poetry.

But shall the desert teem with verdure rare;

Its sandy surface fragrant roses bear?

Sweet is the thought to me; but sweeter still

The truth, which He who promised shall fulfil.

The moral waste, to moral verdure turn;

The fruitless heart, fertility shall learn.

The rose of Sharon shall be planted where

Infectious weeds had tainted all the air.