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8 Yet, hast thou not, my Lord and God, Though on thy throne above, Still here on earth thy own abode, The Altar of thy love?

Oh, thither, then, let me repair, Thy gracious smile to see, And hear thee say in stillness there, "Come, little one, to me."

 

boat with snow-white sail Is floating on the summer sea; Oh, lightly moves it with the gale, And all its crew are children three. Kind Heaven, grant no harm betide Their fragile bark when night falls dim; And hark, the breeze bears far and wide The little fishers' evening hymn.

"Poor fishermen, too weak are we To stem the rolling ocean's wave; And, Mary, we have turn'd to thee, A mother's gentle help to crave. Hail, Mary! star of ocean, hail! Oh, hear the hymn we sing to thee, The while we trim our shifting sail, And shape our course across the sea.

Oh, deign our feeble toil to bless, And keep old Ocean calm the while; 