When ease and quiet are our lot

When ease and quiet are our lot
Our hearts grow hard and cold,
God and His love remember'd not,
We wander from His fold;

But when His tempests sweep our sky
His wrath we dare not brave,
We stoop beneath the blast, — and cry-
Arise our God and save.

Lord, grant that ever in my breast
Such dread of sin may be,
That I may never dream of rest
Or peace, except in Thee!

That 'neath the calmest, brightest sky
Thy mercy ever gave,
This heart may dread sin's storm, and cry
Arise, my God, and save.