The sea is like a mirror far and near,
And ours a prosperous voyage, safe from harms;
Yet may the thought that everlasting arms
Are round us and about us, be as dear
Now when no sight of danger doth appear,
As though our vessel did its blind way urge
Mid the long weltering of the dreariest surge,
Through which a perishing bark did ever steer.
Lord of the calm and tempest, be it ours,
Poor mariners! to pay due vows to Thee,
Though not a cloud on all the horizon lowers
Of all our life; for even this way shall we
Have greater boldness toward Thee, when indeed
The storm is up, and there is earnest need.