The wind whips fierce and furious through the night, And wails her haunting dirge on shroud and stay Stretched taut; as masts careen in drunken sway, And crew hold sheet and tiller in desperate fight, And pouring down the deck new torrents sweep O’er forward stanchions, off the quarter spill As off the close reefed canvas little rills Pour waters through the waters to the deep. But down below He lies in peaceful rest, “O Master! we are perishing, awake!” “Why do ye fear o ye of little faith?” And now the wind is calm, the sea is glass. And there the twelve in prostrate fear now lie: “Who’s this whom even wind and sea obey?”
The Storm
The Storm
The Storm
The wind whips fierce and furious through the night, And wails her haunting dirge on shroud and stay Stretched taut; as masts careen in drunken sway, And crew hold sheet and tiller in desperate fight, And pouring down the deck new torrents sweep O’er forward stanchions, off the quarter spill As off the close reefed canvas little rills Pour waters through the waters to the deep. But down below He lies in peaceful rest, “O Master! we are perishing, awake!” “Why do ye fear o ye of little faith?” And now the wind is calm, the sea is glass. And there the twelve in prostrate fear now lie: “Who’s this whom even wind and sea obey?”