“Shall we meet in that blest harbour,
When our stormy voyage is o’er?
Shall we meet and cast the anchor
By the fair celestial shore?
“Shall we meet with many loved ones,
Who were torn from our embrace?
Shall we listen to their voices,
And behold them face to face?”
So is a hymn from the Countess of Huntingdon’s collection:—
“I launch into the deep,
And leave my native land,
Where sin lulls all asleep:
For thee I fain would all resign,
And sail for heav’n with thee and thine.
“Come, heav’nly wind, and blow
A prosp’rous gale of grace,
To waft from all below
To heav’n, my destined place:
There in full sail my port I’ll find,
And leave the world and sin behind.”
Or I might quote a poem on “The Last Voyage” from the Lyra Messianica, which one would have supposed to have been founded on the Gaelic legend told by Macpherson:—
“On! on! through the storm and the billow,
By life’s chequer’d troubles opprest,
The rude deck my home and my pillow,
I sail to the land of the Blest.
