Ye bondmen! afflicted with wave upon wave,
Whom no man can comfort, whom no man can save;
With darkness surrounded, by terrors dismay'd,
In toiling, in rowing, your strength is decay'd.

Loud roaring, the billows now nigh overwhelm,
But skilful's the Pilot, who sits at the helm;
His wisdom conducts you, his justice defends;
In safety and quiet your bondage he ends.

“O fearful! O faithless!” in mercy he cries,
“My promise, my truth, are they light in your eyes?
Still, still I am with you, my promise shall stand,
Thro' tempest and tossing I'll bring you to land.

Then trust me and fear not, your lives are secure;
My wisdom is perfect, supreme is my pow'r:
In love I correct you, your soul to refine,
To make you, at length, in my likeness to shine.

The simple, the fearful, the weak are my care,
The helpless, the hopeless, I hear their sad pray'r;
From all their afflictions, my glory shall spring,—
The deeper their sorrows, the louder they'll sing.