Thy works of glo­ry, migh­ty Lord,
Thy won­ders in the deeps,
The sons of cour­age shall re­cord
Who trade in float­ing ships.

At Thy com­mand the winds arise,
And swell the tow­er­ing waves;
The men, as­ton­ished, mount the skies,
And sink in gap­ing graves.

Again they climb the wa­te­ry hills,
And plunge in deeps again;
Each like a tot­ter­ing drunk­ard reels,
And finds his cour­age vain.

Frighted to hear the tem­pest roar,
They pant with flut­ter­ing breath;
And hope­less of the dist­ant shore
Expect im­me­di­ate death.

Then to the Lord they raise their cries;
He hears the loud re­quest,
And or­ders si­lence through the skies,
And lays the floods to rest.

Sailors re­joice to lose their fears,
And see the storm al­layed;
Now to their eyes the port ap­pears;
There let their vows be paid.

’Tis God that brings them safe to land;
Let stu­pid mor­tals know
That waves are un­der His co­mmand,
And all the winds that blow.

O that the sons of men would praise
The good­ness of the Lord!
And those that see Thy won­drous ways,
Thy won­drous love re­cord!