O God, who met­est in Thine hand
The wa­ters of the migh­ty sea,
And bar­rest ocean with the sand
By Thy per­pe­tu­al de­cree:

What time the floods lift up their voice
And break in an­ger on the shore,
When deep to deep calls with the noise
Of wa­ter­spouts and bil­lows’ roar;

When they who to the sea go down,
And in the wa­ters ply their toil,
Are lift­ed on the surge’s crown,
And plunged where seeth­ing ed­dies boil;

Rule then, O Lord, the ocean’s wrath,
And bind the tem­pest with Thy will;
Tread, as of old, the wa­ter’s path
And speak Thy bid­ding, Peace, be still.

So with Thy mer­cies ev­er new
Thy ser­vants set from per­il free,
And bring them, Pi­lot wise and true,
Within the port where they would be.