If, on a qui­et sea,
Toward Hea­ven we calm­ly sail,
With grate­ful hearts, O God, to Thee,
We’ll own the fa­vor­ing gale,
With grate­ful hearts, O God, to Thee,
We’ll own the fa­vor­ing gale.

But should the surg­es rise,
And rest de­lay to come,
Blest be the tem­pest, kind the storm,
Which drives us near­er home,
Blest be the tem­pest, kind the storm,
Which drives us near­er home.

Soon shall our doubts and fears
All yield to Thy con­trol;
Thy ten­der mer­cies shall il­lume
The mid­night of the soul,
Thy ten­der mer­cies shall il­lume
The mid­night of the soul.

Teach us, in ev­ery state,
To make Thy will our own;
And when the joys of sense de­part,
To live by faith alone,
And when the joys of sense de­part,
To live by faith alone.