FAR away inland, when tempests blow Wild through the dark'ning night, We list to the roar of the winds as they go, On their hurricane steeds to the fight; For the hosts of the Storm King are gathering fast Where the white-crested waters flee, And our hearts breathe this prayer, as he rushes past, On the wings of the howling northern blast— " God help the poor fellows at sea!" We wake in the night with a shivering fear, For our dream-ears have thrilled to the shriek Of the drowning seaman, and many a tear Gathers fast on the whitening cheek; For the light of the mind's swift lightning flash Seems to show us the rock-bound lea, And we pray to our God as the billows dash, And in thunder the iron breakers lash— " God help the poor fellows at sea!" In many a home there are fainting hearts, Sorely stirred by the moan of the wind, Fainting down when the light of the day departs, Leaving darkness and clouds behind ; For the loved ones are out on the foam-capped wave, Where the tempests hold revelry, And they breathe up this prayer, for the loved and brave, To the Infinite Grace that can succour and save— " God help the poor fellows at sea!" So He moves to grand deeds many noble souls, That His love may be known on earth, And the fruit of that love, where the storm-wave rolls, Giveth hope in men's heart new birth; For the life-boat away to the sinking bark Flies swiftly to save, and we Pray God speed the lightly-bounding ark, With its precious freight, o'er the waters dark, From the perilous paths of the sea. C. J.