Out yonder on the raging deep
A ship is lashed and tossed;
She's drifting in the path of storm-
Seems numbered with the lost.

The engines cease to do their work,
The anchor drags below,
The angry tempest rages on,
And drives her on toward woe.

It seems as though the demon "Fate"
Has marked her for his own;
No mortal eye beholds her plight-
She drifts to doom alone.

The star of hope is growing dim,
Despair is towering high,
From outside source relief must come,
Or all on board must die.

The Wireless bold is still intact,
From it the message flies-
Come, oh thou brave life-saving crew,
Through black and wintry skies!

The message of distress is heard
By those who love and care,
And instantly they haste away
To save those in despair.

But weary, anxious hours must pass-
And hours to day may grow-
Before they reach the foundering ship,
Lashed on that sea of woe.

O soul, tossed on Time's heaving sea,
Catch what I would convey:
The heav'nly wireless is for thee-
For thee, as well as they.

If blest with calm, or tried by storm,
Keep to thy wireless way:
Send forth the voidngs of thy heart
To Him who hears thee pray.
He'll give thee cheer, He'll send relief,
He'll hush the storm's mad roar;
In blessed triumph bring thee home
To Canaan's peaceful shore.

No storm shall beat upon that shore
To which thy barque shall steer,
But rest divine and joy supreme
With Jesus ever near.

C. C. Crowston