Father above, of tender mercies,
Cool the heart from hard emotions,
Rest the waves of turbulent thinking,
Quiet the storms where harbors perish.
Lord of winds and tossing waters,
Bid me walk above the surges,
Sight affixed on soothing knowledge:
Earth and sea must do your bidding.
Sweep me into your circle of calm,
Your listening silence, far from the storm,
Beneath the whispering tree of life,
That gently sways in the Spirit’s breath,
And cools my flushed and fevered face,
While turning me toward your fullest grace.
Stop me from running with pagan feet,
Behind false hopes and devilish bait,
To rest and seek your blest retreat
From future worries and troubled fate —
What righteous reign to us come down,
That we by the Lord of heaven be owned!