Thy works of glory, mighty Lord

Thy works of glory, mighty Lord,
Thy wonders in the deeps,
The sons of courage shall record
Who trade in floating ships.

At thy command the winds arise,
And swell the towering waves;
The men astonished mount the skies,
And sink in gaping graves.

Again they climb the wat'ry hills,
And plunge in deeps again;
Each like a tott'ring drunkard reels,
And finds his courage vain.

Frighted to hear the tempest roar,
They pant with flutt'ring breath;
And hopeless of the distant shore,
Expect immediate death.

Then to the Lord they raise their cries;
He bears the loud request,
And orders silence through the skies,
And lays the floods to rest.

Sailors rejoice to lose their fears,
And see the storm allayed:
Now to their eyes the port appears;
There let their vows be paid.

'Tis God that brings them safe to land;
Let stupid mortals know
That waves are under his command,
And all the winds that blow.

O that the sons of men would praise
The goodness of the Lord!
And those that see thy wondrous ways,
Thy wondrous love record.