Merciful God, to Thee we cry,
O think up­on us, or we die
The ever-liv­ing death!
Lo! by a migh­ty tem­pest tossed,
Our ship with­out Thine aid is lost,
Lost in the gulf be­neath.

The mar­in­ers are struck with fear,
And shud­der at de­struct­ion near,
So high the bil­lows swell;
Ready to o’er­whelm our shat­tered state,
Thy judg­ments fall with all their weight,
To crush us in­to hell.

Ah! where­fore is this ev­il come?
Show us, om­ni­sci­ent God, for whom
Thy plagues our Church be­fall:
Give, while we ask, a right­eous lot,
And let the guil­ty soul be caught,
Who brings Thy curse on all.

With trem­bling awe we hum­bly pray,
Now, now the sec­ret cause dis­play
Of our ca­la­mi­ty,
Whose sins have brought Thy judg­ments down!
Alas, my God, the cause I own,
The lot is fall­en on me!

I am the man, the Jo­nas I,
For me the work­ing waves run high,
For me the curse takes place;
I have in­creased the na­tion’s load,
I have called down the wrath of God
On all our help­less race.

With guil­ty un­be­liev­ing dread
Long have I from His pre­sence fled,
And shunned the sight of Hea­ven;
In vain the par­don­ing God pur­sued,
I would not be by grace sub­dued,
I would not be for­giv­en.

I know the tem­pest roars for me,
Till I am cast in­to the sea,
Its rage can ne­ver cease:
Here then I to my doom sub­mit,
Do with me as Thy will sees fit,
But give Thy peo­ple peace.

Save, Je­su, save the sink­ing ship,
And lo! I plunge in­to the deep
Of all Thy judg­ments here;
I fall be­neath Thy threat­en­ings, Lord,
But let my soul, at last re­stored,
Before Thy face ap­pear.

Beneath Thine an­ger’s pre­sent weight
I sink, and on­ly dep­re­cate
Thy sor­er wrath to come:
Give me at last in Thee a part,
And now, in mer­cy, now avert
The guil­ty na­tion’s doom.

O bid the ang­ry waves sub­side,
Into a calm the tem­pest chide
By Thy su­preme com­mand:
Thou in our brok­en ship re­main,
Till ev­ery soul the har­bor gain,
And reach the heav’n­ly land.