BY ADELAIDE PROCTOR.

The tempest rages wild and high,

The waves lift up their voice and cry

Fierce answers to the angry sky,--

Miserere Domine.

Through the black night and driving rain,

A ship is struggling, all in vain

To live upon the stormy main;--

Miserere Domine.

The thunders roar, the lightnings glare,

Vain is it now to strive or dare;

A cry goes up of great despair,--

Miserere Domine.

The stormy voices of the main,

The moaning wind, the pelting rain

Beat on the nursery window pane:--

Miserere Domine.

Warm curtained was the little bed,

Soft pillowed was the little head;

"The storm will wake the child," they said:

Miserere Domine.

Cowering among his pillows white

He prays, his blue eyes dim with fright,

"Father save those at sea to-night!"

Miserere Domine.

The morning shone all clear and gay,

On a ship at anchor in the bay,

And on a little child at play,--

Gloria tibi Domine!

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