1 THE winds were howling o'er the deep,
Each wave a watery hill,
The Saviour wakened from his sleep,
He spake, and all was still.

2 The madman in a tomb had made
His mansion of despair;
Woe to the traveller who strayed
With heedless footsteps there!

3 He met that glance so thrilling sweet.
He heard those accents mild,
And, melting at Messiah's feet,
Wept like a weaned child.

4 O madder than the raving man!
O deafer than the sea!
How long the time since Christ began
To call in vain on me?

5 He called me when my thoughtless prime
Was early ripe to ill;
I passed from folly on to crime,
And yet he called me still.

6 He called me in the time of dread
When death was full in view,
I trembled on my feverish bed,
And rose to sin anew.

7 Yet could I hear him once again,
As I have heard of old,
Methinks he should not call in vain
His wanderer to the fold.

8 O thou that every thought canst know,
And answer every prayer;
O give me sickness, want, or woe,
But snatch me from despair!

9 My struggling will by grace control,
Renew my broken vow!
That blessed light breaks on my soul?
O God! I hear thee now.