O God, who metest in Thine hand
The waters of the mighty sea,
And barrest ocean with the sand
By Thy perpetual decree: What time the floods lift up their voice
And break in anger on the shore,
When deep to deep calls with the noise
Of waterspouts and billows’ roar; When they who to the sea go down,
And in the waters ply their toil,
Are lifted on the surge’s crown,
And plunged where seething eddies boil; Rule then, O Lord, the ocean’s wrath,
And bind the tempest with Thy will;
Tread, as of old, the water’s path
And speak Thy bidding, “Peace, be still.” So with Thy mercies ever new
Thy servants set from peril free,
And bring them, Pilot wise and true,
Within the port where they would be. |
