(Original.)

THE SYRO-PHENICIAN WOMAN.

MATT. XV. 22-28.

EMMELINE DRUMMOND.

"HAVE mercy on me, Lord!" she cried: He that petition heard— Although, to try the mourner's faith, "He answer'd not a word."

Oh! little knew his followers then
The love that fill'd his heart:
"Send her away," they said; but He
Would never say, Depart.

"Lord help me!" then again she cried; And though no words of love

At first repaid her faith, it brought

A blessing from above!

N

She was not worthy of his love,
But still she knelt and pray'd;
And soon the words that Jesus spoke
Her humble trust repaid.

"Great is thy faith; and as thou wilt,

So be it done to thee."

And now she quickly hasten'd home
The miracle to see.

Oh! had we but a faith like hers,
Far oftener should we know
The precious gifts which Jesus waits
On sinners to bestow.

And did we seek, like her, His aid
Who saves in sorrow's hour,
We should by blest experience know
His never-failing power!

THE WRECK OF "THE FORFARSHIRE."

T. K. HERVEY.

SHE left her port-that gallant ship

The mistress of the seas,

Her canvass gleaming in the sun,
Her pennant on the breeze.
Gay, happy hearts upon her deck
Left happy hearts behind;

The prayers that speed the parting guest
Went with her on the wind,

As, like some strong and spirit-thing,
The vessel touch'd it with her wing!

She left her port-the gallant bark
That reach'd it never more!
The spirits have not met again
That parted on that shore!
At night she lay a riven thing,

The good ship and the free-
The merry souls that sail'd her, gone

Across a darker sea!

And all her pride of spar and sail

Lost, like vain hopes, before the gale!

The wind that made, that summer morn,

The music of her deck,

Howls like a hungry demon now
Above the lonely wreck!

But oh! how many another voice
That mingled with the strain,
On loving hearts, in sigh or song,

Shall never fall again!

Hark! did the wild wave send a cry,
As of a soul in agony?

Beneath a sky without a star,

On a sea without a sail,

The desperate shout of drowning men,

And woman's wilder wail,

Heard, through the pauses of the storm,
In frequent moan or scream,
Like the wild nightmare sounds that vex
The dreamer in a dream,

Tell where a faint and feeble few

Are left of all that gallant crew.

And oh the fond and yearning thoughts That mingle with despair,

As lips that never pray'd before

Send up the spirit's prayer!

The faces of the far-away

That smile across the sea,

And low, sweet tones that reach the heart

Through all its agony!

The hopes for others pour'd like rain,

When for themselves hope seemeth vain!

'Tis morn!—and to that echoing rock What bright and blessed form Comes gliding like a thing of light,

Amid the wrathful storm?

Hath HE who hush'd the waves of old,

And walk'd the foam-white lee, To where the lonely fisher-bark

Lay tossing on the sea,

Stretch'd forth His finger, strong to save

From that wild tempest's yawning grave?

Hath mercy heard the human groans
That rent the midnight air,

And God His own sweet angel sent

In answer to the prayer

?

She cometh! 'Twas an angel's part

To pass yon dark abyss !

And God hath spoken to the heart
That dared a scene like this!
Oh! many a witness, dauntless one!

Shall one day meet thee at His Throne!