See the ship, the tempest round her,
See the storm-king rend the sail;
Lost her helm, the barque must founder
‘Midst the mad and moaning gale.
‘Midst the mad and moaning gale, the moaning gale.
We are now upon life’s ocean,
Sailing for the distant shore;
Safely may we make the haven
When the raging storm is o’er.
When the raging storm is o’er, the storm is o’er.
Why should we give way to sorrow?
Soon will dawn a brighter day;
Jesus died, but on the morrow
Angels rolled the stone away.
Angels roll’d the stone away, the stone away.
Frank E. Cook, arr./J.M. North