When winds far-blown from realms of pain
Lash sorrow's storm-waves high,
Thou deemest, tossed on life's rough main,
That death looms threatening by:
Thou callest, "Christ, whose voice once curbed
With power the raging deep,
Where is Thy might? All-undisturbed
Thou liest, O Lord, asleep."

What though He seem to sleep? yea, e'en
To slight thine anguished cries?
Yield not to gaunt despair; serene
Against the danger rise.
He sleeps not. Nay! 'tis we that sleep:
Untouched by slumber's power
He watches. Would that we could keep
Such watch with Him one hour!

Behold Him rise in majesty!
Shame on thy faithless fears!
He stays the wind, He stills the sea,
From off the rocks He steers.
So watch, for 'tis Thy Lord's command,
Thyself in calm or strife;
For hard the task, and weak the hand,
And short the course of life.

Give heed to watch, give heed to pray,
But scorn thy guilty fear,
Though mighty billows night and day
Their threatening crests uprear.
What if untracked before thy face
The watery wastes expand?
The helm, through God's abounding grace,
Lies in thy Saviour's hand.

Midst black confusion of the storm,
Midst moan of winds, He hears;
And ever at the stern His Form,
Majestic, God-like steers;
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Till onward past death's ice-bound strand,
Where pain's wild breakers foam,
He guides thee to that Blessed Land,
Anchored in endless home.