{"newspaper_name": "The Wilmingtonian, and Delaware advertiser.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
{"character_count": 1921, "word_count": 339, "ccnet_language_score": [0.8845000267028809], "ccnet_perplexity": [2163.60009765625], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
Thr following Ode, we believe, has been
,.,t oncr or twice republished in this coun-
Nv It was written in 1899, and recited at
the Anniversary of the Liverpool Marine
society:


what ;s life but an ocean, precarious as those
Which surround this terraqucous ball
,yh,t ;s man but a bark, often laden with woes
What is death but the harbor of all
On our passage to-day may be mild and serens
And our loftest canvass be shown;
while tomorrow fierce tempcsts may blacken


the scene,


And our masts by the board may be gone.
On lies ROSY morn, with prosperous breeze,
we all our light sails may display
With cloudless horizon may sweep at our ease,
And of sorrow ne'er feel the salt spray
But, ere we have reacl'd our meredian, the gale
From the tho point Of i'll lfortnne may blow;
And the sun of our being all cherries and pale,
May set in the wild wave of
Experience, when bound DER the turbulent


waves,


Remembers that ills may arise;
And, with sedu.ous care, ere the danger he


braves,


His bark with spare tackle supplies.
So you, on lfcs ocean, with providcnt minds,
Have here spare anchor secur'd,
With which, in despite of advcrsltys winds,
The helpless will one day be moor'd
When the strong arm Of winter uplifts the blue


main,


And snow-storms and shipwrecks abound;
When hollow checked famine inhcts the fell


pain,


And the swamp filings destruction around:
When the folly of rulers embroils human kind,
And myriads are robbed of their breath
This wise institution may come o'er the mind,
And may soften the pillow of earth.
The poor widow'd mourner, the sweet prattlng


throng,


Ard the vet'ran, whose pow RS are no mere,
Shall here find an arm to defend them from


wrong,


And chase meaSre WANT from their door.
This IS temp'rns the wind to the lamb newl,


shorn,


This is following the ants prudent ways
And, o blest institution the child yet unborn
With rapture shall lisp forth thy praise.