My bark is wafted to the strand
By breath divine,—
And on the helm there rests a Hand
Other than mine.
One who has known in storms to sail
I have on board;
Above the raving of the gale
I hear my Lord.
He holds me when the billows smite,—
I shall not fall.
If sharp, 'tis short,— if long, 'tis light,—
He tempers all.
Safe to the land, safe to the land!
The end is this;—
And then with Him go hand in hand
Far into bliss.
—.
