My Father’s At The Helm

T'WAS when the sea's tempestuous roar

A little bark assailed;

And pallid fear, with awful power,

O'er each on board prevailed

Save one, the captain's darling child,

Who fearless viewed the storm;

And playful, with composure smiled

On danger's threatening form.

"Why sportive thus," a seaman cried,

"Whilst sorrows overwhelm?"

"Why yield to grief?" the boy replied,

"My father's at the helm!"

Despairing saint, from thence be taught,

How groundless is thy fear;

Think on what wonders Christ has wrought,

Aped 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.

Then upwards look, howe'er distressed,

For He will guide thee home,

To that blest port of endless rest,

Where storms can never come.