on English ships. It is said to have
been one of Sir Evelyn Wood's favorites. The late William Whiting wrote
it in 1860, and it was incorporated with some alterations in the
standard English Church collection entitled _Hymns Ancient and Modern_.
It is a translation from a Latin hymn, a triune litany addressing a
stanza each to Father, Son and Holy Spirit. The whole four stanzas have
the same refrain, and the appeal to the Father, who bids--

--the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep,

--varies in the appeal to Christ, who--

--_walked_ upon the foaming deep.

The third and fourth stanzas are the following:

O Holy Spirit, Who didst brood
Upon the waters dark and rude,
And bid their angry tumult cease,
And give, for wild confusion, peace;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea.

O Trinity of love and power,
Our brethren shield in danger's hour;
From rock and tempest, fire and foe,
Protect them wheresoe'er they go:
Thus evermore shall rise to Thee
Glad hymns of praise from land to sea.

William Whiting was born at Kensington, London, Nov. 1, 1825. He was
Master of Winchester College Chorister's School Died in 1878.

_THE TUNE._

The choral named "Melita" (in memory of St. Paul's shipwreck) was
composed by Dr. Dykes in 1861, and its strong and easy chords and
moderate note range are nobly suited to the devout hymn.

"THE OCEAN HATH NO DANGER."

This charming sailors' lyric is the work of the Rev. Godfrey Thring. Its
probable date is 1862, and it appeared in Morell and Howe's collection
and in _Hymns Congregational and Others_, published in 1866, which
contained a number from his pen. Rector Thring was born at Alford,
Somersetshire, Eng., March 25, 1823, and educated at Shrewsbury School
and Baliol College, Oxford. In 1858 he succeeded his father as Rector of
Alford.

He compiled _A Church of England Hymnbook_ in 1880.

The ocean hath no danger
For those whose prayers are made
To Him who in a manger
A helpless Babe was laid,
Who, born to tribulation
And every human ill,
The Lord of His creation,
The wildest waves can still.

* * * * *

Though life itself be waning
And waves shall o'er us sweep,
The wild winds sad complaining
Shall lull us still to sleep,
For as a gentle slumber
E'en death its