Thy way is on the deep, O Lord!
E’en there we’ll go with thee;
We’ll meet the tem­pest at Thy word,
And walk up­on the sea.

Poor trem­blers at His rough­er wind,
Why do we doubt Him so?
Who gives the storm a path, will find
The way our feet should go.

A mo­ment may His hand be lost—
Drear mo­ment of de­lay—
We cry, Lord, help the tem­pest tossed!
And safe we’re borne away.

The Lord yields no­thing to our fears,
And flies from self­ish care;
But comes Him­self wher­e’er He hears
The voice of lov­ing pray­er.

O hap­py soul! of faith divine,
Thy vic­to­ry, how sure!
The love that con­quers all is thine,
The pa­tience to en­dure.

Come, Lord of peace, our griefs dis­pel
And drive our fears away;
’Tis Thine to or­der all things well,
And ours to bless the sway.