But yes­ter­morn the ang­ry waves
Tossed high their crests of foam;
The pierc­ing winds with fu­ry raged,
And wan­der­ers longed for home;
Now ’neath the shade of moss-grown rock,
I watch the qui­et sea;
And list the gen­tle ripp­ling sound
It soft­ly speaks to me.

The voice that stilled the ang­ry waves,
And hushed the storm to rest,
Can all thy heart’s vain tu­mult soothe,
And fill with peace thy breast.
O, rest­less heart, wilt thou not turn,
To Him who gave thee life?
His love can bring the deep­est calm,
And save from end­less strife.