How welcome to the tempest-tossed,

How welcome to the tempest-tossed,
Amidst the storm's career,
While horror spreads from coast to coast,
Is some kind haven near!

But far more welcome to the soul
Is that secure abode,
(When terrors o'er the conscience roll)
The Rock prepared of God.

Jesus, arrayed in mortal form,
Of whom the prophets tell,
On his dear head, O what a storm
Of awful vengeance fell!

To him, my only Hiding-place,
Let me for shelter fly;
The storm of death draws on apace,
And who can say how nigh?

In that dread moment, O to hide
Beneath his sheltering blood!
'Twill Jordan's icy waves divide,
And land my soul with God.