This world’s a rough and stor­my sea,
Where winds arise and tem­pests roar;
On ev­ery hand the quick­sands lie,
The rocks are near, re­mote’s the shore.

Though mount­ain­ous the wa­ters stand,
And dare to lift their voice on high;
When Je­sus speaks, at His com­mand,
The waves sub­side, the tu­mults die.

The soul’s a ves­sel rude­ly tossed,
By tem­pest on this trou­bled sea;
But not a saint shall e’er be lost,
Who seeks for re­fuge, Lord, in Thee.

Then let the swell­ing bil­lows roar,
In aw­ful ma­jes­ty be dressed;
I’ll brave them all to gain the shore,
The ha­ven of eter­nal rest.