They That Toil upon the Deep

They that toil up­on the deep

And in ves­sels light and frail

O’er the migh­ty wa­ters sweep

With the bil­low and the gale—

Mark what won­ders God per­forms

When He speaks

and

un­con­fined

Rush to bat­tle all His storms

In the cha­ri­ots of the wind.

Up to heav’n their bark is whirled

On the mount­ain of the wave

Down as sud­den­ly ’tis hurled

To th’abys­ses of the grave.

To and fro they reel

they roll

As in­to­xi­cate with wine;

Terrors pa­ra­lyze their soul

Helm they quit

and hope re­sign.

Then un­to the Lord they cry

He in­clines a gra­cious ear

Sends de­liv­er­ance from on high

Rescues them from all their fear.

Calm and smooth the surg­es flow

And

where dead­ly lightn­ing ran

God’s own re­con­cil­ing bow

Meets the ocean with a span.

O that men would praise the Lord

For His good­ness to their race;

For the won­ders of His word

And the rich­es of His grace!

O that men would praise the Lord

For His good­ness to their race;

For the won­ders of His word

And the rich­es of His grace!