Thou poor, afflicted, tempted soul,

Thou poor, afflicted, tempted soul,
With fears, and doubts, and tempests tossed,
What if the billows rise and roll,
And dash thy ship, it is not lost;
The winds and waves, and fiends may roar,
But Christ will bring thee safe on shore.

What ails those eyes bedewed with tears?
Those labouring sighs that heave thy breast?
Those oft-repeated, broken prayers?
Dost thou not long for Jesus' rest?
And can the Lord pass heedless by,
And see a mourning sinner die?