THE STORMY PETREL. 219 



The halcyon loves, in the noontide beam, 

 To follow his sport on the tranquil stream ; 



He fishes at ease 



In the summer breeze, 

 But we go angling in stormiest seas. 



No song-note have we but a piping cry, 



That blends with the storm, when the winds rise high; 



When the land-birds wail 



We sport in the gale, 

 And merrily over the ocean we sail. 



THE PETREL. 



Bird of the ocean, whose fluttering wing, 

 Seems ever to touch the brink of the grave, 



How can it be that so feeble a thing 

 Successfully combats the wind and the wave ? 



He who hath formed thee, He only could give 



Strength 'mid the war of the waters to live. 



As the petrel braves the hurricane's gloom, 

 A bark has flown over the stormy sea ; 



We thought that the billow had been its tomb, 

 But the noble vessel was floating free ; 



And ploughing her course through the ocean foam, 



She hath brought the sailor in safety home. 



Wanderer, thy bark with its beautiful form, 

 And its graceful sails that bend at thy will, 



Who gave it the power to strive with the storm ? 

 Oh ! remember, it was not thy puny skill. 



The issues from death belong not to thee, 



But to Him who hath formed the land and the sea. 



