O Zion, afflicted with wave upon wave,
Whom no man can comfort, whom no man can save;
With darkness surrounded, by terrors dismay’d,
In toiling and rowing, thy strength is decay’d.

Loud roaring, the billows now nigh o’erwhelm,
But skilful’s the Pilot who sits at the helm;
His wisdom conducts thee, His power thee defends;
In safety and quiet thy warfare He ends.

“O fearful! O faithless!” in mercy He cries;
“My promise, my truth, are they small in thine eyes?
Still, still I am with thee, my promise shall stand;
Through tempest and tossing I’ll bring thee to land.”