The gale is howling in the sky,
The rain in misty torrents pours,
While dreary hours are passing by,
And dark’ning clouds around us lowers.
The ocean waves in thunders break,
And dash along the whitened shore,
While echoes wild, and faintly shriek,
And mingle in the dismal roar.
Yet hope sits smiling on the scene,
And beck’ning to us all around;
The morn will beam again serene,
And joy and gladness will resound –
For still there is a power supreme,
Presiding o’er the mighty deep;
The ruffian blast can quickly calm,
And lull the warring waves to sleep.
Oh! Sceptic then unbind thy brow,
Nor ere again such thoughts advance;
Nor yet delay, but do it now,
Nor longer thrust thy soul to chance.