WILL the storm ne'er blow over ? How the blast sweeps by the door! Broader and broader grows the line of white foam around the shore.

I sit cowering by the window, too sick at heart to pray; "Will the great God change his purposes for anything I can say ? Still from out of the black darkness new waves leap into the light, But on all that stormy water there is ne'er a sail in sight.

There are many tens of thousands of those cruel white-crested waves; Not too many for white headstones to mark brave sailors' graves.

I nave heaped the fire for his welcome—it shines on the sanded floor; And my ears grow weary with listening for his footstep at the door; "While my darling may be lying dead on some bleak storm-beat shore, Or far down in the deep calm water, where no storm can reach him more.

On the winds come wailing voices, mourning as they pass by me, for brave men struggling for dear life far out on that wild sea.

There is One alone can help them. Bring my darling safe to land, O Thou that dost hold the waters in the hollow of thine hand -Chamber's Journal.