MY FATHER’S AT THE HELM

‘TWAS when the sea’s tremendous roar

A little bark assailed,
And pallid fear, with awful power.
O’er each on board prevailed:

Save one, the captain’s darling son,
Who fearless viewed the storm.
And playful with composure smiled
At danger’s threatening form.

“Why sporting thus,” a seaman cried,
“Whilst sorrows overwhelm?”
“Why yield to grief?” the boy replied;
“My father’s at the helm.”

Despairing soul, from thence be taught
How groundless is thy fear;
Think on what wonders Christ has wrought,
And He is always near.

Safe in His hands, whom seas obey,
When swelling billows rise,
Who turns the darkest night to day,
And brightens lowering skies:

Though thy corruptions rise abhorred,
And outward foes increase,
‘Tis but for Him to speak the word,
And all is hushed to peace.

Then upward look, howe’er distressed;
Jesus will guide thee home,
To that blest port of endless rest,
Where storms shall never come.