Thoughts at Sea.

    Here is the boundless ocean,—­there the sky,
      O’er-arching broad and blue—­
    Telling of God and heaven—­how deep, how high,
      How glorious and true!

    Upon the wave there is an anthem sweet,
      Whispered in fear and love,
    Sending a solemn tribute to the feet
      Of Him who sits above.

    God of the waters!  Nature owns her King! 
      The Sea thy sceptre knows;
    At thy command the tempest spreads its wing,
      Or folds it to repose.

    And when the whirlwind hath gone rushing by,
      Obedient to thy will,
    What reverence sits upon the wave and sky,
      Humbled, subdued, and still!

    Oh! let my soul, like this submissive sea,
      With peace upon its breast,
    By the deep influence of thy Spirit be
      Holy and hushed to rest.

    And as the gladdening sun lights up the morn,
      Bidding the storm depart,
    So may the Sun of Righteousness adorn,
      With love, my shadowed heart.

A Burial at Sea.

[Illustration:  Burial at Sea]

    The shore hath blent with the distant skies,
      O’er the bend of the crested seas,
    And the leaning ship in her pathway flies,
      On the sweep of the freshened breeze.

    Swift be its flight! for a dying guest
      It bears across the billow,
    And she fondly sighs in her native West
      To find a peaceful pillow.

    There, o’er the tide, her kindred sleep,
      And she would sleep beside them—­
    It may not be! for the sea is deep,
      And the waves—­the waves divide them!

It may not be! for the flush is flown,
That lighted her lily cheek—­
’Twas the passing beam, ere the sun goes down.—­
Life’s last and loveliest streak.

’Tis gone, and a dew is o’er her now—­
The dew of the mornless eve—­
No morrow will shine on that pallid brow,
For the spirit hath ta’en its leave.

* * * * *

The ship heaves to, and the funeral rite,
O’er the lovely form is said,
And the rough man’s cheek with tears is bright,
As he lowers the gentle dead.

The corse sinks down, alone—­alone,
To its dark and dreary grave,
And the soul on a lightened wing hath flown,
To the world beyond the wave.

* * * * *

’Tis a fearful thing in the sea to sleep
Alone in a silent bed—­
’Tis a fearful thing on the shoreless deep
Of the spirit-world to tread!

The Dream of Youth.

[Illustration:  The Dream of Youth]

    In days of yore, while yet the world was new,
    And all around was beautiful to view—­
    When spring or summer ruled the happy hours,
    And golden fruit hung down mid opening flowers;