134 fishermen's memorial and record book. 



ASLEEP ON THE BEACH. 



BT GEORGE H. PROCTER. 



There's a dear little child at play 

 On the beach, -with its pebbly shore ; 



Bright and joyous the Bummer's day, 

 And hushed the sound of ocean's roar. 



The tiny waves dance up and down, 

 Sparkling and rippling merrily ; 



The child with play hath tired grown. 

 And lain him down quite wearily. 



Higher and higher up they creep, 



Those rippling wavelets tipped with white, 

 Off from the bosom of the deep, 



Along the sand they take their flight. 



In they keep rolling with the tide ; 



The boy sleeps ou — so free from care ; 

 O'er the waters the light winds glide, 



And sunbeams kiss his golden hair. 



Old grandpa, who can scarcely creep, 

 With palsied limbs — voice feeble, too, — 



Bees from his door the child asleep ; 

 Great God t what is there he can do ? 



"With quivering lips, uplifted hand, 

 He prays, midst sighs and weeping. 



That tlie good Lord from off the sand 

 Would save the child there sleeping. 



'•Descend, O Father, from the skies, 



And touch with spirit of Ught 

 My little grandchild's sleeping eyes. 



Or stay the proud waves' might! " 



His prayer ia ended ; he has done 

 All that he cau to save the boy, 



And left him in the care of One 

 Mighty to save or to destroy. 



Hush! what does the old man see 

 Skipping along o'er the pebbly ground ? 



Bruno, his dog, who, leaping free. 

 His master joins with a joyous bound. 



'• Bruno, good dog ! there's CTharlie dear. 

 Your playmate, lying on the shore ; 



Go quickly, now, and bring him here, 

 Ere rising waters sweep him o'er ! " 



Showing the dog an old toy gun, 



Which oft he'd seen in Charlie's hands, — 

 He knew at once, and off he run. 



Bounding across the glistening sands. 



The child is reached. Haste, Bruno, haste I 

 There may not need another wave ; 



The waters rise — Oh, do not waste 

 A moment more if life you'd save I 



Brave dog! gifted with instincts rare. 

 How gently you lift that little waif 



Out from the surf, and with such care 

 Place him above where all is safe ! 



The mother came with bated breath ; 



How she had run from grandpa's side! 

 She feared her boy had met his death. 



There on the sand amid the tide. 



But when she saw his opening eyes. 

 And watched his tiny, heaving chest. 



Oh, joy untold ! what glad surprise ! 

 Ecstatic rapture filled\ier breast. 



Phrenological Journal. 



