O Where Is He That Trod the Sea?

O where is He that trod the sea

O where is He that spake—

And de­mons from their vic­tims flee

The dead their slum­bers break:

The pal­sied rise in free­dom strong

The dumb men talk and sing

And from blind eyes

be­night­ed long

Bright beams of morn­ing spring.

O where is He that trod the sea

O where is He that spake—

And pierc­ing words of li­ber­ty

The deaf ears op­en shake;

And mild­est words ar­rest the haste

Of fev­er’s dead­ly fire

And strong ones heal the weak who waste

Their life in sad de­sire.

O where is He that trod the sea

O where is He that spake—

And dark waves

roll­ing hea­vi­ly

A glassy smooth­ness take;

And le­pers

whose own flesh has been

A liv­ing loath­some grave

See with am­aze that they are clean

And cry

’Tis He can save.

O where is He that trod the sea—

’Tis on­ly He can save;

To thou­sands hun­ger­ing wear­ily

A won­drous meal He gave;

Full soon

ce­les­tial­ly fed

Their rus­tic fare they take;

’Twas spring­tide when He blest the bread

And har­vest when He brake.

O where is He that trod the sea—

My soul! the Lord is here:

Let all thy fears be hushed in thee

To leap

to look

to hear

Be thine: thy needs He’ll sa­tis­fy:

Art thou dis­eased

or dumb?

Or dost thou in thine hun­ger cry?

I come

saith Christ

I come.