THOUGH rough be our passage from tempest and storm,
As fierce billows wrestle, and thunderclouds form,
Though darkness be blotting out sea, sky, and land,
Be careful for nothing, “the Lord is at hand!”
Not now from the mountain’s top views He His own,
As high on the storm-wave their frail bark is thrown,
But there from the glory, the darkness above,
He ceaselessly watches His objects of love.
Our weakness and danger e’er call forth His aid;
He bids us take courage, and not be afraid,
For soon shall we touch on that bright golden shore
Where wild waves and tempests can threaten no more.
The waves in their foaming but bear us along
To heaven, the home of the ransomed one’s song;
The storm sweeps us on to its welcoming strand
In safety through all, for “the Lord is at hand!”
“The Lord is at hand!” Soon His voice will be heard,
When each lab’ring craft in response to His word
Will battle no more with the tempest-swept tide,
But anchor forever in peace by His side.
Oh I what are the perils which hover around
Compared with the rapture which there will be found?
When safe in our haven His praises we sing,
Whilst heaven with echoes of triumph will ring.
U.U. U.