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Draw, draw ar y cefnfor


Far, far on the ocean one cold starless night,

A small bark was sailing in pitiful plight:

The boom of the billows, as on rushed the storm,

O’ercame the stout hearts of the men with alarm.

But one in that lone boat was fearless the while,—

The captain’s bright boy:—looking round with a smile:

“The storm threatens,” he said, “but still do not fear,

We safely shall land, for my Father doth steer.

O why, child of heaven, is thy faithless breast,

In viewing the tempest with terror oppressed?

The dark depths are roaring, but yield not to fear,

Thy vessel is safe, for thy Father doth steer.

Soon, soon endless joy shall encompass thy brow,

Thy friends on the shore are awaiting thee now:

Unfurl every sail, see the bright morn appear,

And Canaan is nigh, and thy Father doth steer.

Unfurl every sail, for the favouring breeze

Is urging thee on to the haven of peace:

Thine anchor is safe—thou to Jesus art dear:

Thou hast entered the port—and thy Father doth steer.

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