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 Driven far out by baffling winds, fighting with stubborn leaks, They tossed, the prey of bitter storm, from ruthless wave to wave, They strove with slowly deepening gloom their sinking ship to save, Till in the depth of mute despair they knelt upon the deck, And prayed that —Mary's son—would keep their lives from wreck. They prayed, and as their souls thus spoke, hope in their bosoms rose, And many a weary eye that night in sleep could calmly close.

A flush upon yon eastern sky where glows the Magi's star, A bank of blackness looming large, as land that heaves afar, Through throbbing hearts a sudden thrill, that quickens as the morn Breaks with its summer glory on the day when Christ was born. Oh! joy to our long weary hearts; oh! hopes of getting home, Oh! goodly sun, and kindly sea, and tender sky, God's dome, Oh! land, whose pleasant lineaments, to these our dazzled eyes, Are glorious as were Canaan's heights to Israel's thankful spies.