The Winds Were Howling o’er the Deep

The winds were howl­ing o’er the deep

Each wave a wa­te­ry hill;

The Sav­ior wak­ened from His sleep

He spake

and all was still.

The mad­man in a tomb had made

His man­sion of des­pair;

Woe to the tra­vel­er who strayed

With heed­less foot­step there!

The chains hung brok­en from his arm

Such strength can hell sup­ply;

And fiend­ish hate

and fierce alarm

Flashed from his hol­low eye.

He met that glance so thrill­ing sweet

He heard those ac­cents mild

And

melt­ing at Mes­si­ah’s feet

Wept like a wean­èd child.

Oh mad­der than the rav­ing man!

Oh deaf­er than the sea!

How long the time since Christ be­gan

To call in vain on me?

He called me when my thought­less prime

Was ear­ly ripe to ill;

I passed from fol­ly on to crime

And yet He called me still.

He called me in the time of dread

When death was full in view;

I trem­bled on my fev­er­ish bed

And rose to sin anew.

Yet could I hear Him once again

As I have heard of old

Methinks He should not call in vain

His wan­der­er to the fold.

Oh Thou

that ev­ery thought canst know

And an­swer ev­ery pray­er;

Oh give me sick­ness

want

or woe

But snatch me from des­pair!

My strug­gling will by grace con­trol

Renew my brok­en vow!

What bless­èd light breaks on my soul?

Oh God! I hear Thee now.