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 traveler 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 weanéd child.

4 O, madder than the raving man!

O, deafer than the sea!

How long the time since Christ began

To call in vain to me!

5 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.