Scripture Verse

A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke Him and said to Him, Teacher, don’t you care if we drown? He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, Peace! Be still! Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. Mark 4:37–39

Introduction

portrait
Horatio Palmer (1834–1907)

Words: Ma­ry A. Bak­er, 1874.

When Am­eri­can pre­si­dent James Gar­field was ass­as­sin­at­ed in 1881, the hymn was sung at sev­er­al of the fun­er­al ser­vic­es held in his hon­or through­out the coun­try.

Music: Ho­ra­tio R. Pal-mer, 1874 (🔊 pdf nwc).

If you know where to get a good pho­to of Bak­er (head & shoul­ders, at least 200×300 pix­els), or a bet­ter one of Pal­mer,

Background

Dr. Pal­mer re­quest­ed me to pre­pare sev­er­al songs on the sub­ject of the cur­rent Sun­day school les­sons. One of the themes was Christ Still­ing the Tem­pest. It so ex­pressed an ex­pe­ri­ence I had re­cen­tly passed through, that this hymn was the result.

A ve­ry dear and on­ly bro­ther, a young man of rare love­li­ness and pro­mise of char­ac­ter, had been laid in the grave, a vic­tim of the same dis­ease that had al­rea­dy ta­ken fa­ther and mo­ther. His death oc­curred un­der pe­cul­iar­ly dis­tress­ing cir­cums­tanc­es.

He was more than a thou­sand miles away from home, seek­ing in the bal­my air of the sun­ny South the heal­ing that our cold­er cli­mate could not give. Sud­den­ly he grew worse. The wri­ter was ill and could not go to him.

For two weeks the long lines of te­le­graph wires car­ried back and forth mes­sag­es be­tween the dy­ing bro­ther and his wait­ing sis­ters, ere the word came which told us that our be­loved bro­ther was no long­er a dwell­er on the earth.

Although we mourned not as those with­out hope, and al­though I had be­lieved on Christ in ear­ly child­hood and had al­ways de­sired to give the Mas­ter a con­se­crat­ed and obe­di­ent life, I be­came wick­ed­ly re­bel­lious at this dis­pen­sa­tion of di­vine pro­vi­dence. I said in my heart that God did not care for me or mine. But the Mas­ter’s own voice stilled the tem­pest in my un­sanc­ti­fied heart, and brought it to the calm of a deep­er faith and a more per­fect trust.

Sankey, pp. 220–21

Lyrics

illustration
Christ Stilling the Storm
Bernhard Plockhorst (1825–1907)

Master, the tem­pest is rag­ing!
The bil­lows are toss­ing high!
The sky is o’er­sha­dowed with black­ness,
No shel­ter or help is nigh;
Carest Thou not that we per­ish?
How canst Thou lie asleep,
When each mo­ment so mad­ly is threat­en­ing
A grave in the ang­ry deep?

Refrain

The winds and the waves shall ob­ey Thy will,
Peace, be still!
Whether the wrath of the storm tossed sea,
Or de­mons or men, or what­ev­er it be
No wa­ters can swal­low the ship where lies
The Mas­ter of ocean, and earth, and skies;
They all shall sweet­ly ob­ey Thy will,
Peace, be still! Peace, be still!
They all shall sweet­ly ob­ey Thy will,
Peace, peace, be still!

Master, with ang­uish of spir­it
I bow in my grief to­day;
The depths of my sad heart are trou­bled
Oh, wak­en and save, I pray!
Torrents of sin and of ang­uish
Sweep o’er my sink­ing soul;
And I per­ish! I per­ish! dear Mas­ter
Oh, hast­en, and take con­trol.

Refrain

Master, the ter­ror is ov­er,
The ele­ments sweet­ly rest;
Earth’s sun in the calm lake is mir­rored,
And Hea­ven’s with­in my breast;
Linger, O bless­èd Re­deem­er!
Leave me alone no more;
And with joy I shall make the blest har­bor,
And rest on the bliss­ful shore.

Refrain