A BOY'S HOPES.

Dear mother, dry those flowing tears,

They grieve me much to see;

And calm, oh! calm thine anxious fears —

What dost thou dread for me?

‘ Tis true that tempests wild oft ride

Above the stormy main,

But, then, in Him I will confide

Who doth their bounds ordain.

I go to win renown and fame

Upon the glorious sea;

But still my heart will be the same —

I'll ever turn to thee!

See, yonder wait our gallant crew,

So, weep not, mother dear;

My father was a sailor too —

What hast thou then to fear?

Is it not better I should seek

To win the name he bore,

Than waste my youth in pastimes weak

Upon the tiresome shore?

Then, look not thus so sad and wan,

For yet your son you'll see

Return with wealth and honors won

Upon the glorious sea.