On The Deep Poem by Alfred Gibbs Campbell

Hard at their oars the fishers toiled,
But adverse winds their labors foiled;
Torn into shreds, their useless sail
Streamed out upon the angry gale;
No nearer drew their destined port;
Their bark, the tempest's mock and sport,
High on the waves was wildly tossed,
Till every human hope seemed lost.
Yet strained their vision through the night
To catch some gleam of coming light;
When, lo! to their astonished eyes
What vision of affright doth rise?
A form of self-poised majesty
Walking upon the stormy sea.
In vain the billows round him rise,
The wind in vain its fury tries;
He heeds them not, but through the dark
Walks calmly toward the laboring bark.
'No mortal thus the waves can tread!
'It is a spirit from the dead!
'Some dreadful harbinger of doom
'Burst from the darkness of the tomb.'
As thus they spake with bated breath,
Dire fancies of impending death
Stole o'er their souls in wild array,
And overwhelmed them with dismay.
Their very heart's blood felt a chill
Which brake the link twixt act and will;
They stood as stone-carved statues still.
Nor had they power to ask his name
As nearer now the stranger came;
But accents which they knew full well,
Dissolved at once the fearful spell;
A voice in softest music said,
'Lo! it is I! be not afraid!'
Then all their terror fled apace;
Joy tinted each fear-whitened face;
Their hearts, which erst had ceased to beat,
Pulsated with a rapture sweet;
The Master's voice a holy calm
Shed on their souls, like healing balm.
The raging winds, the surging sea,
Acknowledged His supremacy;
(He could command what He had made,)
And the mad turbulence was stayed.
No more the sailors toil in vain;
His will, who quelled the furious gale,
Supplies the place of oars and sail,
And straight their destined port they gain.


So when, upon Life's changeful sea,
Winds howl and waves rise furiously,
If my lone bark shall, tempest driven,
Strive vainly toward the port of Heaven;
Should clouds and darkness intervene
My soul and God's pure light between,
And neither sun nor star be seen;
Should hope and joy afar be fled,
And my sad soul, disquieted,
Grope darkly for some ray of light
To guide it through the stormy night;
Then, Jesus, Master, let my eyes
Behold Thy glorious form arise,
With such a mien, in such a guise,
That I my Lord may recognize!
Let Thy dear voice upon my ear
Fall with its words of holy cheer!
Be Thou my fellow-voyager!
Then shall the wild winds sink to sleep
And placid grow the raging deep;
Darkness and storm shall quickly fly,
And leave unclouded all my sky;
My soul, no longer tempest-driven,
Shall find in Thee its joy, its Heaven!