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The time of trouble nears,—"it hasteth greatly;"
Even now its ripples span the world-wide sea;
Oh! when its waves are swollen to mountains stately,
Will the resistless billows sweep o'er me?

Or, terror-stricken, will I then discover
A glorious Presence 'twixt the sea and sky,
Treading the waters!—Earth's Imperial lover,
His words of cheer,—"Be not afraid,—'tis I!"

Will a hand, strong, yet tender as mother's,
From the dark surging billows lift me out?
With soft rebuke, more loving than a brother's;
"Of little faith! O, wherefore did'st thou doubt?"
Montrose, Pa. A. L. F.