He Lay Asleep on a Pillow by Alice Nye Fite

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Jan 3, 1907

He Lay Asleep on a Pillow

By Alice Nye Fite

He lay asleep on a pillow While the skies with terror were rife, And each white-toothed, black-throated billow Was yawning to take his life, Though twelve loved men Were struggling then In what seemed but a hopeless strife.

If duty had called him to aiding, Would you find him a sluggard to lie? No man ever saw him evading Nor in toil standing selfishly by. No need of his hand, As they put out from land; So he slept. ’Twas his Father on high;

’Twas his Father was Lord of the ocean; To do his will was his care, And Gennesaret’s rage and commotion Were nothing to him lying there. To float or to fall, As his Father might call, In going to sleep was his prayer.

The blackness may cloud us, appalling Our hearts and bedimming our sun; If to labor his service is calling, There’ll be strength until vict’ry is won; If duty be sleep, Kind watch he will keep, For the Storm-God and Father are one.

— Alice Nye Fite.