Where the remote Bermudas ride From a small boat that row'd along, The listening winds received their song. "What should we do but sing his praise "Where He the huge sea-monsters racks, Safe from the storm's and tyrant's rage. None but a kind heart, and a good one, too, would provide hymns like this for those who toil at the oar, and it is a happy thing for human life that such kind hearts do not fail. One follows another as men need songs on the waters. men on the island Marvel sang for emigrant boatshores of the west; Wordsworth has furnished us with hymn music from the boatmen on the Neckar. Those who have wandered on the Rhine, and have allowed themselves to be drawn aside by the charms which surround some of its tributaries, will remember the beauties that cluster about Heidelberg, and allow many of its river scenes to enrich the imagery of their dreams in after life. It would not be difficult to picture one wanderer there; a wanderer in whose witching company many of us have sauntered on an "Excursion" among the highlands of Scotland, the English Lakes, and on the banks of the Wye and the Wharfe; a Cumberland man, tall, though scarcely of dignified carriage; evidently used to travel, notwithstanding his "narrowness and drop about the shoulders"; with a face, however, telling of deep thoughts and beautiful day-dreams, and eyes that seemed like windows opening into some pure spiritual world, and emitting "the light that never was on land or sea." Who would not know William Wordsworth? and who would not enjoy to watch him, on the river bank or near the rapids, catching the spirit of the boatmen's chant, and helping us to sympathize with them in danger, and to join them in their hymn? Jesu! bless our slender boat, -- By the current swept along; Saviour, for our warning, seen We forgot Thee, do not Thou Disregard thy suppliants now!! Hither like yon ancient tower Watching o'er the river's bed, Else we sleep among the dead; Guide our bark among the waves; Through the rocks our passage smooth; No one can think of Wordsworth and the English lakes without having Coleridge and Southey before him. Nor could he fail to see that plain-looking house a little way out of Keswick standing on a gentle eminence over the river Greta, near the old bridge. Greta Hall would be interesting to all who love songs on the waters; for there it was that Caroline Bowles appeared as Mrs. Southey a few years before the poet's death; and there she ministered to the paralyzed man who had so widely influenced the literature of his times; and there, like his guardian spirit, she watched and soothed him through the dimness and depression of his closing hours. She would be thought of with deep respect as the second wife of Southey, but she has for ever established her claim on our admiration and esteem by such touching appeals to our best feelings as we have in her Mariner's Hymn Launch thy bark, mariner! Set thy sails wȧrily, Look to the weather bow, "What of the night, watchman ? What of the night ?" "Cloudy-all quiet No land yet-all's right." At an hour when all seemeth How! gains the leak so fast? Clean out the holdHoist up thy merchandise, Heave out thy gold; There-let the ingots goNow the ship rights; Hurra! the harbour's near Lo! the red lights! Slacken not sail yet At inlet or island; Straight for the beacon steer, Straight for the high land; Crowd all thy canvas on, Cut through the foam— Christian, cast anchor nowHeaven is thy home! Hymns on the waters come with their richer and deeper music to the heart when they are sung to us by gifted spirits, who have themselves gone down to the sea in ships, to do business in great waters, to see the works of the Lord and his wonders in the deep"; or who, on missions of mercy, have been "in the deep," "in perils of waters, and in perils in the sea." Among these Charles Wesley is a remarkable example, combining, as he does in his ocean songs, the recollec tions of an experienced observer, fine poetic power, a jubilant faith, and devout feeling. There is a record in the journal which he kept on his voyage back from America in 1736, which helps to open the secret of his success in his hymns for mariners: "Thursday, Oct. 28th," says he, "the captain warned me of a storm approaching. In the evening, at eight, it came, and rose higher and higher. Often I thought it must have come to its strength, for I did not lose a moment of it, being obliged by bodily suffering to rise frequently. At last the long-wished-for morning came, but brought no abatement of the storm. There was so prodigious a sea that it quickly washed away our sheep, and half our hogs, and drowned most of our fowls. The ship had been new caulked at Boston, how carefully it now appeared; for being deeply laden the sea streamed in at all sides, so plentifully, that it was so much as four men could do, by continual pumping, to keep her above water. I rose and lay down by turns, but could remain in no posture long; strove vehemently to pray, but in vain; persisted in striving, yet still without effect. I prayed for power to pray, for faith in Jesus Christ, continually repeating his name, till I felt the virtue of it at last, and knew that I abode under the shadow of the Almighty. It was now about three in |