The seas of life are crowded with our sail.
We are the unknown craft, the little boats
That battle with the Galilean gale
To follow where the Greater Vessel floats.

We do not carry Prophets on our deck.
The Master Pilot never came aboard.
We beat and drift and shatter into wreck,
And no one heeds our cry, “We perish, Lord!”

We have not left our nets to follow Thee,
Nor had our sight restored with ecstasy;
Our blindness still is dense, so dense we see
Our brothers walking darkly as a tree.

We only know 'tis tempest or 'tis calm,
Capernaum or Magdala slides by;
We only know that Jordan winds are warm,
We only read the red face of the sky.

If we would swim we needs must shorten sail
Or drop the mast and desperately bail;
And if our puny strength should prove too frail
We sink beneath the waves—as those who fail.

And yet one day there rang across the sea,
From where the Ship was wallowing hard pressed,
A joyous “Peace, be still!” and suddenly
A great calm brought our little ships to rest.