The Pilgrim

Jesu, at thy command, I launch into the deep; And leave my native land, Where sin lulls all asleep: For Thee I fain would all resign, And sail to heav'n with Thee and Thine, What though the seas are broad, What though the waves are strong, What though tempestuous winds Distress me all along; Yet what are seas or stormy winds Compar'd to Chist, the sinners friend? Christ is my Pilot wise, My compass in his word: My soul each storm defies, While I have such a Lord. I trust his faithfulness and power To save me in the trying hour. Though rocks and quicksands deep Through all my passage lie; Yet Christ shall safely keep And guide me with his eye. How can I sink with such a prop, That bears the world and all things up? By faith I see the land, The hav'n of endless rest; My soul, thy wings expand; And sly to Jesus' breast. Oh may I reach the heav'nly shore, Where winds and seas distress no more. Whene'er becalm'd I lie, And all my storms subside, Then to my succour fly And keep me near thy side; For more the treach'rous calm I dread, Than tempests bursting o'er my head. Come, heav'nly Wind, and blow A prosperous gale of grace, To waft from all below To heav'n my destin'd place: Then in full sail my port I'll find, And leave the world and sin behind.