Classic Poem

The sabbath hours were almost spent,
The sun was in the west,
When, gently rocking with the tide
Upon old ocean's breast,
I listened to a sacred song,
Whose utterance thrilled mine heart,
And, where its echoes floated, stood
Reluctant to depart.

They sang,—those boys,—in sweetest tones,
Of Christ, the smitten Rock:
I thought of England's mourning queen,
When first she knew the shock
Of widowhood, and how her heart
Sweet comfort must have known,
Since Albert told in that sweet hymn
He trusted Christ alone.

The meeting closed, the daylight waned;
We bade the ship adieu;
And, gliding o'er the moon-lit waves,
To shore we quickly drew:
But long within our memories
That evening hour will dwell,—
The rising moon, the silvered waves,
And day's serene farewell.

And blending with the thought of words
In kindness spoken there,
And with the hymns by others sung,
And with the voice of prayer,
Will come the sound of music sweet,—
The hymn the young lads sung
About the sheltering, smitten Rock
To which Prince Albert clung.

O Rock of Ages! in thy side
Sweet refuge may we know,
When gathering storms our skies obscure,
And wintry winds may blow!
And may the youthful band which sang
That loved and precious hymn,
By grace be fitted for the choir
Of holy seraphim!