O Lord! O Lord!—how are the seas of thought
Tonight with waves of direst tempest torn!—
My spirit is in darkness terror-caught
Like Peter's, on Tiberiades borne!

The waves are cleaving so my little bark
That to its last destruction it seems nigh;
Thou who didst shed Thy light on blindness dark,
Oh, let it now unto my faith reply!

Rise, rise, O Star of Jesus, on the world
That lightly mocks the weakness of my arms!
My soul is chilled; our earthly hopes are furled;
Our eyes are closing 'mid the dread alarms!

Appear across the blackness of the night!—
Our spirits call Thee!—here alone we wait!—
And coming swiftly let Thy garment white
Appease the waves where there was tumult late!