The boat pursued her dangerous way, amid “the windy storm and tempest,” and hope animated their bosoms, and some felt sure they should arrive in safety.

The storm and darkness increased, the wind blew with greater violence, and the tumultous sea hove up a hollow, bellowing sound, and seemed threatening swift destruction.

About midnight the boat became unmanageable, and it became evident to all on board, that many, if not all, must perish.

O, who may paint the agony of that fearful night? when death was heralding his approach, in the loud surging of the ruthless blast, and the deep toned thunder of the many voiced waters, as they dashed their giant waves against the ill-fated bark, that groaned and trembled beneath their mighty pressure.

Mingling with the tumultous groans of troubled nature, arose a fearful cry, from lips white with fear.

The solemn voice of prayer went up, and there were none to scoff, when the aged man bent his knee, and lifted his heart to God in prayer, beseeching him, for Jesus Christ’s sake, to have mercy upon their souls.  Many prayed in that hour of trial that never prayed before.  It was an hour that closed the scorner’s lip, and made the most profligate feel he was in the presence of a prayer-hearing God.

The bell, as if by some mysterious agency, commenced tolling, and its sad knell sounded through that long night, over the bosom of the lone sea.  It was the same bell that rang so loud and clear on the day of the boat’s first departure from New York; but now how different are the tones as they mingle with ocean’s wail, and the fearful shriek of the howling blast.

It was like the changes that come over us so often, as we toss upon the tide of life, and buffet its adverse storms.

Many, ere morning dawned, found a watery grave.

It is not my intention to particularize, but draw the contrast of the first and last night the beautiful boat tossed upon the mighty deep.

Perchance the same eyes that witnessed her departure from the shore, anxiously watched her return that morning, and the anticipated greeting of many a dear friend burned bright in many a heart, but was soon—­very soon—­to be forever extinguished, as the loved, expected form was even then buried beneath the ocean wave.  Many a mother had prepared the sumptuous thanksgiving breakfast, for a long-absent expected son, who, perchance, was offering up his thanksgiving anthem before the throne of God.

Hoary age and helpless infancy fell alike, before the destroying angel, and there were vacancies in almost all the relations of life.

How often it is thus with those who sail in life’s frail bark, out upon the ocean of time.  The morning may be calm and serene, and the golden sun shed his glad beams upon our joyous pathway, or the pale moon may walk forth in her beauty, accompanied by all the hosts of twinkling stars, to gladden the night, while gentle winds sigh around our dwellings, and we may pass on in the sunshine and the calm.  But clouds will arise, tempests will come, for the waves and billows of human passions will surge over us, and many a frail bark is shattered and stranded beneath their giant strength.