za} Saviour, look on Thy beloved, Triumph over all my foes,
Turn to heavenly joy my mourning, Turn to gladness all my woes; Live
or die, or work or suffer Let my weary soul abide, In all changes
whatsoever, Sure and steadfast by Thy side:

{3rd Stanza} When temptations fierce assault me, When my enemies I find,
Sin and guilt, and death and Satan, All against my soul combined, Hold
me up in mighty waters, Keep my eyes on things above--Rightousness,{sic}
divine atonement Peace and everlasting love,}

{illust. caption = LATITUDE 41.46 NORTH, LONGITUDE 50.14 WEST WHERE
MANHOOD PERISHED NOT}

{illust. caption = LOWERING OF THE LIFE-BOATS FROM THE TITANIC

It is easy to understand why...}

{illust. caption = PASSENGERS LEAVING THE TITANIC IN THE LIFE-BOATS

The agony and despair which possessed the occupants of these boats
as they were carried away from the doomed giant, leaving husbands and
brothers behind, is almost beyond description. It is little wonder that
the strain of these moments, with the physical and mental suffering
which followed during the early morning hours, left many of the women
still hysterical when they reached New York.}

WHERE MANHOOD PERISHED NOT

Where cross the lines of forty north
And fifty-fourteen west
There rolls a wild and greedy sea
With death upon its crest.
No stone or wreath from human hands
Will ever mark the spot
Where fifteen hundred men went down,
But Manhood perished not.

Old Ocean takes but little heed
Of human tears or woe.
No shafts adorn the ocean graves,
Nor weeping willows grow.
Nor is there need of marble slab
To keep in mind the spot
Where noble men went down to death,
But manhood perished not!

Those men who looked on death and smiled,
And trod the crumbling deck,
Have saved much more than precious lives
From out that awful wreck.
Though countless joys and hopes and fears
Were shattered at a breath,
'Tis something that the name of Man
Did not go down to death.

'Tis not an easy thing to die,
E'en in the open air,
Twelve hundred miles from home and friends,
In a shroud of black despair.
A wreath to crown the brow of man,
And hide a former blot
Will ever blossom o'er the waves
Where Manhood perished not.

HARVEY P. THEW
{spelling uncertain due to poor printing}

CHAPTER VIII. THE CALL FOR HELP HEARD

THE VALUE