How grand to see the white maned billows roll,
And waste their fury on the rocky shore,
Or listen to their loud, terrific roar,
And then to think of him who can control
The stormy winds and the tempestuous sea,
And whispers "peace, be still," and winds and waves
His will obey, hushed by his lullaby.
Then why are we of fear the willing slaves,
When we have but to wake our sleeping Lord,
Or rather trust the promise of his word,
And feel secure, from every danger free,
And have a calm serenity restored,
Like to the glassy surface of the deep,
When winds and waves are hushed in noiseless sleep?
