The wind blew high, and the wind blew loud,
And the billows rolled like a heaving cloud,
And the white foam rose to meet the shroud
Which hovered o'er the sea,
And madly swept a vessel proud
On the lake of Galilee.
Both heart and hand were busy there,
Flapping, the rent sail whirled in air;
All eyes sought heaven in despair;
The dark depths yawned below;
And ashen lips were then at prayer,
Which cursed an hour ago.
'Twas war 'twixt man and deep and sky,
'Twas roar of wave 'gainst human cry,
While death hung darkly from on high,
And no reprieve;
The storm alone howled fiercely by,
And moaned, "Believe."
What joy and hope were in that tone—
God makes the ocean serve His own;
One faithful sailor heard that moan
Who knew the Lord,
And cried, "We are not left alone;
Where man is, there is God"!
"Awake the Master from His sleep."
"Awake, O Master; still the deep!
Awake, Thy holy vigil keep,
Or we must die;
The mighty waves above us leap,
And death is nigh."
The Master spoke; the storm had fled,
With all its load of fear and dread;
The tattered sails again were spread
Beneath the sun;
The storm-tossed vessel onward sped;
The port was won,
Awake—not Christ; He does not sleep
Awake, my soul, thy vigil keep;
A storm may rise upon the deep
To shatter thee,
And drive thee in its maddening sweep,
A wreck at sea.