Thy works of glory, mighty Lord,
That rul’st the boist’rous sea,
The sons of courage shall record,
Who tempt the dang’rous way.
At Thy command the winds arise,
And swell the tow’ring wave,
The men, astonished, mount the skies,
And sink in gaping graves.
Again they climb the wat’ry hills,
And plunge in deeps again;
Each like a tott’ring drunkard reels,
And finds his courage vain.
Frightened to hear the tempest roar,
They pant with flutt’ring breath:
And hopeless of the distant shore,
Expect immediate death.
Then to the Lord they raise their cries,
He hears their loud request,
And orders silence through the skies,
And lays the floods to rest.
Sailors rejoice to lose their fear
And see the storm allayed.
Now to their eyes the port appears:
There let their vows be paid.