When winds are rag­ing o’er the up­per ocean,
And bil­lows wild con­tend with an­gry roar,
’Tis said, far down, be­low the wild com­mo­tion,
That peace­ful still­ness reign­eth ev­er­more.

Far, far be­neath, the noise of tem­pests di­eth,
And silv­er waves chime ev­er peace­ful­ly,
And no rude storm, how fierce so e’er it fli­eth,
Disturbs the Sab­bath of that deep­er sea.

So to the heart that knows Thy love, O Pur­est!
There is a tem­ple, sac­red ev­er­more,
And all the bab­ble of life’s an­gry voic­es
Dies in hushed still­ness at its peac­eful door.

Far, far away, the roar of pas­sion dieth,
And lov­ing thoughts rise calm and peace­ful­ly,
And no rude storm, how fierce so e’er it fli­eth,
Disturbs the soul that dwells, O Lord, in Thee.

O Rest of rests! O Peace, se­rene, eter­nal!
Thou ev­er liv­est, and Thou chang­est ne­ver.
And in the sec­ret of Thy pre­sence dwell­eth
Fullness of joy, for­ev­er and for­e’er.