SIMPLY TRUSTING
I do not guide my
fragile bark;
I could not steer clear of the strand,
The raging whirlpools, shoals of
sand;
And I should
greatly fear the dark.
When billows high
around me roll,
I should grow faint and sick with
fears,
My eyes would hold such floods of
tears,
I should grow
blind and lose control.
And I should drift
afar and near,
The sport of every idle gale;
I, too, some pirate ship might hail,
And then, ah me,
what fate so drear!
But now I neither
know nor care
Whether the sea be wild or calm,
Whether the winds blow blane or
balm,
Or whether skies
be dark or fait.
For there is One
sits at the helm,
Who fears not shoals, nor storm, nor
dark;
To port He’ll safely guide my bark,
And suffer naught
to overwhelm.
-Selected.
