WHERE ARE WE DRIFTING?
By Grace H. Horr
The sea of life is deep and wide
And countless the treasures that ’neath it hide;
The currents of life are full and strong,
With counter currents of right and wrong;
Let us ask ourselves as we float along,
Where, oh! where, are we drifting? Ah! who the billows can safely ride?
What craft has the power to breast the tide?
The maelstroms of life are strong and deep,
And some on the edge of the vortex sleep.
Let us ask ourselves, as our watch we keep,
Where, oh! where, are we drifting? O sea, though we’ve shipped in the barque Good Intent,
False colors oft hail us, false signals are sent;
And rocks once unknown we encounter ahead,
While treacherous sands are beneath us spread,
And sadly we sigh o’er the wreck of our dead.
Where, oh! where are we, drifting? Ah! hark; how fiercely the tempest blows!
Before the wild wind each vessel goes.
Old Boreas shrieks in wild delight,—
Ah, mercy! this furious, fearful night!
Redouble the watch for the beacon light.
Where, oh! where, are we drifting? O sea of life, on thee who can steer?
When lulled the winds, and the sky is clear,
The Syrens then sing their false, sweet notes.
Look out, oh! look out, aboard the boats;
And let each one ask, as he onward floats,
Where, oh! where, am I drifting?