The night is black, the sea is wild, my craft is frail.
The wind drives hard; I dare not use the dripping sail.
Alone I have fought with wrenching oar the heaving sea.
But now a stronger fisherman will row with me
Who can discern through murk and spray the havening shore.
Christ, Truth, be with us through the storm—my strength restore.
"Where two or three are gathered, in my name, there I will be!"
The terror of the night is gone, the daystar shows.
With widening light the sky's vast bowl is edged with rose.
Though now the flung foam patterns ride a quiet swell,
Be with me still. The night was hard, too hard to tell.
And though the unfurled sail has caught the morning breeze,
It seems in vain, for through my nets run empty seas.
"Cast now the net upon the right side! You shall find."
Now through the opalescent mists the sun's first beams
Touch first the masthead, then the sail, and now it gleams
On bulging dragnet, leaping fish, and roiling wake.
Although the net is filled with fish, it does not break.
O Christ, whose voice has guided me throughout the night,
I see thee now, on shore, suffused in morning light.
"Bring of the fish you now have caught and come and dine!"
