“It is I; be not afraid.”
-MARK 6:47-5147And when even was come, the ship was in the midst of the sea, and he alone on the land. 48And he saw them toiling in rowing; for the wind was contrary unto them: and about the fourth watch of the night he cometh unto them, walking upon the sea, and would have passed by them. 49But when they saw him walking upon the sea, they supposed it had been a spirit, and cried out: 50For they all saw him, and were troubled. And immediately he talked with them, and saith unto them, Be of good cheer: it is I; be not afraid. 51And he went up unto them into the ship; and the wind ceased: and they were sore amazed in themselves beyond measure, and wondered. (Mark 6:47‑51).
THE night is dark, the winds are high,
Black rolling clouds obscure the sky;
Fierce bursts the storm that sweeps the sea
Of. thy green shores, O Galilee:
In vain you boatmen ply the oar,
And toil to gain the wished-for shore.
Oh, never, since first seamen brave
Ventured to trust the treacherous wave,
Did bark so rich a freight contain,
Nor e'er shall hold so rich again
As that now tossing on the sea,
Of thy green shores, O Galilee.
No silk, or pearls, or dust of gold,
That little storm-tossed skiff may hold;
No men of wealth, or power, or birth,
The wise and mighty of the earth:
Man's eye therein no more could see
Than fishermen of Galilee.
Soldiers of Christ those boatmen are,
Listed for faith's all-glorious war;
The chosen heralds of God's grace,
Sent forth to ev'ry clime and race,
To battle with the hosts of hell,
And God's glad news of mercy tell.
Oh, how would hell's dark vaults profound,
With yells of fiendish triumph sound,
The hosts of darkness shout with joy,
Could Satan's craft that bark destroy;
And those poor boatmen find their grave,
Deep in the Galilean wave!
Ye tempests howl! ye billows swell!
Rage on, ye mighty gates of hell!
Muster your hosts; arm all your powers-
The rack, the stake, the dungeon's towers:
Before those men ye all shall fail;
They shall, through Christ, o'er all prevail.
Foul is the wind, the waves run high,
Their wearied oars in vain they ply,-
When lo! a wondrous form of light
Bursts on the darkness of the night,
And walks upon the depths profound,
As if the sea were solid ground.
With throbbing hearts, in wild amaze,
The startled boatmen trembling gaze,
“It is a spirit," lo! they cry,
As to their bark its steps draw nigh;
Such visions of the night, more drear
To mortal hearts, than sword or spear.
“Fear not: 't is I; be not afraid,”
With well-known voice, their Master said.
“Fear not: 't is I; be of good cheer,
Nor let your hearts give way to fear.
I walk upon the liquid wave,
Jesus, Emmanuel, strong to save.”
“It is the Lord!" they gladly cry
What joy succeeds their agony!”
It is the Lord! our Savior near,
What room is there for care, or fear?
All earth and hell we can defy
If we but know our Lord is nigh.”
“If it indeed be Thou, my Lord,”
Peter replies, " but speak the word,
And I myself will walk the sea,
Guide Thy poor shattered vessel home;
Bid the wild blasts and tempests cease:
Oh, come,-and then 't will all be peace!
Landed oh Canaan's heavenly shore,
We 'll love, and worship, and adore.
Fearless of aught, to come to Thee!”
He bids him come; he leaves the bark,
And ventures on those waters dark.
Oh, wondrous power of living faith!
Who credits what Jehovah saith,
And on almighty love relies,
Dares all impossibilities;
Shuts lions' mouths, the furnace braves,
Quenches the fires, and walks the waves.
Creation owns its sovereign Lord,
The sea sustains Him at His word:
He, who of old, by Moses' rod,
Taught its proud waves to know their God,
And bade them stand like walls of brass,
To let His Israel safely pass,
Now, in man's meek and lowly form,
Commands the waves, and rules the storm.
He will His Peter's feet uphold
While Peter's faith is bright and bold,
And make him as securely stand
As if the sea were solid land.
But oh, how wavering is our faith!
At times Thy martyrs smile at death,
Armies of aliens put to flight,
Wax valiant in the hottest fight;
And then anon their cheeks grow pale,
Their arms hang down and footsteps fail.
But still the sky is overcast;
More loudly howls the infuriate blast;
Madly the billows rage, as they
Were loth to lose their wonted prey;
From Christ to them he turns his eyes:
“Save, Lord, I perish," Peter cries.
He sinks beneath the yawning flood,
Where erst by faith he safely stood:
Oh, well for him his Lord was near,
And quick his drowning cries to hear,
And stretch His mighty hand to save
His servant from the watery grave!
“O thou of little faith," He said,
“Why was thy foolish heart afraid?”
Ah, Lord, 't is ever thus with me
Unmoved I stand while trusting Thee;
But sink, whene'er I turn my eyes
On the dark waves that round me rise.
They reach the ship: with joyful breast
They welcome their Almighty Guest;
The clouds disperse, the storm is laid,
The winds His bidding have obeyed;
And soon they reach the wished-for shore,
And wondering at His feet adore.
Jesus, while Thou to heaven art gone,
Thy Church is, like that bark, alone,
Tossed on the sea,-and all is night,
While tempests vex and waves affright;
In vain we toil with lab'ring oar,
And strive to gain the heavenly shore.
And if some, bolder than the rest,
Venture to dare the watery waste,
How soon, alas! their footsteps fail,
As doubt and unbelief prevail;
How oft, when sinking in the wave,
We cry, "We perish, Jesus! save.”
Haste, then, O Savior, quickly come,
Guide Thy poor shattered vessel home;
Bid the wild blasts and tempests cease:
Oh, come,-and then ‘twill all be peace!
Landed on Canaan’s heavenly shore,
We’ll love and worship, and adore.