HIGH flies the spray, and landward leap The hungry savage seas, Whose white manes curl in seething hate Before the lashing breeze, That shrieks its thousand league-long self Across the spume-flecked waste, To line the coast with wrecks and hurl Sweet lives to death in haste I There's sobbing at the river's mouth— The bar roars wild to-night; There's hell upon the ravaged sea In all its maddened spite I There will be children fatherless, And widows, ere the morn In ashen anger sullen breaks Athwart the scene forlorn. . . .

Ah, there's the flash that rips night's pall 1- A wreck's blue shot for aid.

A brig she is, her forestick gone, And on her beam-ends laid! . . .

The life-boat's rocket follows fast. . .

She's out!—gone down that wave.

O God, be with them as they go Yon souls of Thine to save! Sea-battered, spumed upon, nigh lost, A gull of mercy she, As up to wind'ard hard she fares, Then shoreward drives a-lee— A-lee and o'er the foaming bar, 'Mid many a joyous roar That every hand has rescued been By heroes of the oar I J. E. PATTERSON..