FOR CHILDREN. 189

’ « And sport’st thou thus,” a seaman cried,
«While terrors overwhelm ?”
“Why should I fear ?” the boy replied,
“ My father’s at the helm !”

So when our worldly all is reft—
Our earthly helper gone,

We still have one true anchor left—
God helps, and he alone.

He to our prayers will bend an ear,
He gives our pangs relief;

He turns to smiles each trembling tear,
To joy each torturing grief.

Then turn to Him, ‘mid sorrows wild,
When want and woes o’erwhelm ;

Remembering, like the fearless child,
Our Father's at the helm.

 

THE UNREGARDED TOILS OF THE
POOR.

Aas! what secret tears are shed,
What wounded spirits bleed ;
What loving hearts are sundered,
And yet man takes no head!

He goeth in his daily course,
Made fat with oil and wine,

And pitieth not the weary souls
That in his bondage pine,

That turn for him the mazy wheel,
That delve? for him the mine !

1 Delue—dig.