Fourth Sunday after Epiphany, No. 1

When through the torn sail the wild tempest is streaming,
When o'er the dark wave the red lightning is gleaming,
Nor hope lends a ray the poor seamen to cherish,
We fly to our Maker — "Help, Lord! or we perish!"

O Jesus! once tossed on the breast of the billow,
Aroused by the shriek of despair from Thy pillow,
Now seated in glory, the mariner cherish,
Who cries in his danger—" Help, Lord! or we perish!"

And oh! when the whirlwind of passion is raging,
When hell in our heart his wild warfare is waging,
Arise in Thy strength Thy redeemed to cherish,
Rebuke the destroyer — "Help, Lord! or we perish!"