« Prev THE DIVINE PILOT Next »

THE DIVINE PILOT

Valdimar Briem (1848-1930)

8.6.8.6 D

41

When winds far-blown from realms of pain

Lash sorrow's storm-waves high,

Thou deemest, tossed on life's rough main,

That death looms threatening by:

Thou callest, "Christ, whose voice once curbed

With power the raging deep,

Where is Thy might? All-undisturbed

Thou liest, O Lord, asleep."

What though He seem to sleep? yea, e'en

To slight thine anguished cries?

Yield not to gaunt despair; serene

Against the danger rise.

He sleeps not. Nay! 'tis we that sleep:

Untouched by slumber's power

He watches. Would that we could keep

Such watch with Him one hour!

Behold Him rise in majesty!

Shame on thy faithless fears!

He stays the wind, He stills the sea,

From off the rocks He steers.

So watch, for 'tis Thy Lord's command,

Thyself in calm or strife;

For hard the task, and weak the hand,

And short the course of life.

Give heed to watch, give heed to pray,

But scorn thy guilty fear,

Though mighty billows night and day

Their threatening crests uprear.

What if untracked before thy face

The watery wastes expand?

The helm, through God's abounding grace,

Lies in thy Saviour's hand.

Midst black confusion of the storm,

Midst moan of winds, He hears;

And ever at the stern His Form,

Majestic, God-like steers;

42

Till onward past death's ice-bound strand,

Where pain's wild breakers foam,

He guides thee to that Blessed Land,

Anchored in endless home.

« Prev THE DIVINE PILOT Next »
Please login or register to save highlights and make annotations
Corrections disabled for this book
Proofing disabled for this book
Printer-friendly version





Advertisements



| Define | Popups: Login | Register | Prev Next | Help |