The Bolivar Bulletin

THE RANSOMED,
BY GEN W. T. HASKELL.
(Published by request.)

PART I.
I'm adrift on Life's ocean, and wildly I sweep,
Aimless and helmless, its fathomless deep;
The wild winds assail me, it threatingly storms
The clouds roll around me in hideous forms.
I drift to the lee-shore! I strike! I'm aground!
The mad waters whelm me -I drown! oh I drown
Mercy! oh, mercy! Oh Lord set me free?
And take me, oh, take me, to Heaven and Thee.

I wander Life's desert-lone, desolate, sad.
Faint. reeling and weary-I'm mad! oh I'm mad!
No glad waters meet me, no streams flowing free
I perish! I perish! oh. God set me free
Ah! hopeless, I pray Thee, 'tis idle and vain;
I perish! I perish! Rain! rain-give me rain
Let the stream of Deliverance flow gently to me,
And drift me, oh! drift me, to Heaven and Thee

'Mid the wranglings of men, and their conflicts so fierce,
Half mad and despairing, my lips spit a curse,
Instead of imploring a Refuge and Peace,
From, Life's maddening battle, for Hope and Release;
I bear on defiantly, proud, reckless, unblanched
At the dangers that hem me. The curses I launched
At Earth and Heaven, Lord! mercy for me!
Receive me! receive me, to Heaven and Thee.

PART II.
But the storm howls no longer, the desert is gone,
The battle's fierce strife no more hurries me on;
The tempests no more lash the ocean's calm breast,
And the clouds float in beauty afar to the West,
I move through Life's bowers full of bliss and of love,
Looking fondly to earth, and with transport above;
And angel soft whispers, "The Lord sets thee free,
To come to me! Come to me-dwell here with me."

I thank Thee, oh Lord that my raving career
Was checked by the hand of Omnipotence here.
That struck from its jarred equilibrium the mind,
Whose balance, my madness and folly combined,
Had periled fore'er in my earthly career,
While night's threatening darkness encompassed me here,
And my soul is ransomed, unprisoned and free
I am coming, oh Lord! I bow gently to Thee,

Joy! joy! Oh! anguish and sorrow no more
Shall lead me, its victim, on Life's crumbling shore;
The winds waft me gently, I perish no more;
I thirst not-the war of Life's struggles is o'er;
Hope beckons me on with its sweet whispering tale,
To walk through, all hopefully, Life's pleasant vale
And I come to Thee, Lord, unimprisoned and free,
And I bless Thee. oh! bless Thee, for mercy to me.