Prayer may be sweet in cottage homes, Where sire and child devoutly kneel, While through the open casement nigh The vernal blossoms firagrant steal.
Prayer may be sweet in stately halls. Where heart with kindred heart is blent, And upward to th' eternal throne The hymn of praise melodious sent.
But he who fain would know how warm
The soul's appeal to God may be, From friends and native land should turn, A wanderer on tile faithless sea;—
Should hear its deep, imploring tone
Rise heavenward o'er the foaming surge, When billows toss the fragile bark, And fearful blasts the conflict urge.
Naught, naught appears but sea and sky; No refuge where the foot may flee: How will he cast, O Rock divine, The anchor of his soul on thee!