And with a rigid, dying grasp, he closely held me fast, Even as he held me when he seized, at midnight on the mast. With humbled hearts and streaming eyes, down knelt the little band, Praying Him who had preserved their lives, to lend his guiding hand. And day by day, though burning thirst and pining hunger came, His mercy, through our misery, preserved each drooping frame: And after months of weary woe, sickness, and travel sore, He sent the blessed English ship that took us from that shore. And now, without a home or friend, I wander far and near, And tell my miserable tale to all who lend an ear. Thus sitting by your happy hearths, beside your mother’s knee, How should you know the miseries and dangers of the sea! MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. THE SALE OF THE PET LAMB OF THE COTTAGE. Oh! poverty is a weary thing, ’tis full of grief and pain, It boweth down the heart of man, and dulls his cunning brain, It maketh even the little child with heavy sighs complain! The children of the rich man have not their bread to win: They hardly know how labour is the penalty of sin; Even as the lilies of the field, they neither toil nor spin. And year by year, as life wears on, no wants have they to bear; In all the luxury of the earth they have abundant share; They walk among life’s pleasant ways, and never know a care. The children of the poor man--though they be young, each one, Early in the morning they rise up before the rising sun, And scarcely when the sun is set, their daily task is done. Few things have they to call their own, to fill their hearts with pride,-- The sunshine of the summer’s day, the flowers on the highway side, Or their own free companionship, on the heathy common wide. Hunger, and cold, and weariness, these are a frightful three; But another curse there is beside, that darkens poverty:-- It may not have one thing to love, how small soe’er it be. A thousand flocks were on the hills--a thousand flocks, and more,-- Feeding in sunshine pleasantly,--they were the rich man’s store; There was the while, one little lamb, beside a cottage door; A little lamb that did lie down with the children ’neath the tree; That ate, meek creature, from their hands, and nestled on their knee; That had a place within their hearts, as one of the family. But want, even as an armed man, came down upon their shed, The father laboured all day long, that his children might be fed; And, one by one, their household things, were sold to buy them bread. That father, with a downcast eye, upon his threshold stood, Gaunt poverty each pleasant thought had in his heart subdued; “What is the creature’s life to us?” said he, “’twill buy us food!