blessed Lord!" burst forth one joyful shout.
New strength those famished men received; fervent their thanks, but brief--
They man their boat, they reach the ship, they ask a swift relief.
Strange faces meet their view, they hear strange words in tongues unknown,
And evil eyes with threatening gaze are sternly looking down.
They pause--for a new terror bids their hearts' warm current freeze,
For they have met a pirate ship, the scourge of all the seas.
But up and out Mark Edward spake, and in the pirates' tongue,
And when the pirate captain heard, quick to his side he sprung,
And vowed by all the saints of France--the living and the dead--
There should not even a hair be harmed upon a single head,
For once, when in a dismal strait, Mark Edward gave him aid,
And now the debt long treasured up should amply be repaid.
He gave them water from his casks, and bread, and all things store,
And showed them how to lay their course to reach the destined shore.
And the blessing of those famished men went with him evermore.

Again the favoring gale arose, the barque went bounding on,
And speedily her destined port was now in safety won.
And after, when green Trimount's hills greet their expectant eyes,
New thanks to Heaven, new hymns of joy unto the Lord arise.
For glory be unto our Lord, and to His name be praise!
Upon the deep he walketh, in the ocean are his ways.
'Tis meet that we should worship him who doeth right always.

SONG OF SLEEP.

BY G. G. FOSTER.

Oh the dreamy world of sleep for me,
With its visions pure and bright,--
Its fairy throngs in revelry,
Under the pale moonlight!
Sleep, sleep, I wait for thy spell,
For my eyes are heavy with watching well
For the starry night, and the world of dreams
That ever in sleep on my spirit beams.

The day, the day, I cannot 'bide,
'Tis dull and dusty and drear--
And, owl-like, away from the sun I hide,
That in dreams I may wander freer.
Sleep, sleep, come to my eyes--
Welcome as blue to the midnight skies--
Faithful as dew to drooping flowers--
I only live in thy dreamy bowers.

The sun is purpling down the west,
Day's death-robes glitter fair,
And weary men, agasp for rest,
For the solemn night prepare.
Sleep, sleep, hasten to me!
The shadows lengthen across the lea;
The birds are weary, and so am I;
Tired wo