O ZION, afflicted with wave upon wave,
Whom no mortal power can succour or save,
With sickness surrounded, by terrors dismayed,
In toiling and watching, thy strength is decay’d
Loud roaring and swelling, the billows o’erwhelm,
But skilful’s the Pilot that sits at the helm;
His wisdom conducts thee, His power thee defends,
In safety and quiet thy warfare He ends.
“O fearful, O faithless,” in mercy He cries,
“My promise, my truth, are they small in thine eyes?
Still, still I am with thee, my promise shall stand,
Through tempest and tossing, I’ll bring thee to land.
Forget thee, I will not, I cannot, thy name
Engrav’d on my heart doth for ever remain;
The palms of my hands, whilst I look on I see
The wounds I receiv’d when I suffered for thee
Then trust me, and fear not: thy life is secure,
My wisdom is perfect, supreme is my power;
In love I correct thee, thy soul to refine
And cause thee at length in my likeness to shine.
The doubting, the fearful, the weak are my care,
The helpless, the hopeless, I hear their sad prayer;
From all their afflictions my glory shall spring,
The deeper their sorrows, the louder they’ll sing.
James Grant, Edinburgh (1784).