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THE STORM OF LIFE

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jun 11, 1896

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 22, No. 23.

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THE STORM OF LIFE.

By M. M. M.

BY M. M. M.
Darkness broods over the waters, So turbid, dark, and deep; And the clouds are hurrying fast, As tho in haste to keep Pace with the waves, which leap and dash High and yet higher still, Lashed and torn and lashed again By the wind at its will.
And my frail bark is tossed and driven, By the fierce wind and tide, Helplessly hither and thither Over the waters wide. Long, with weak and fal'ring hands, I've tried to guide my bark Into a fairer, calmer sea; But it has grown so dark.
Not a ray of light to guide my way, Not even one stray gleam, Only the lightning's fitful flash, Which makes it darker seem. And now I hear the breakers roar A little way ahead, Which fills my sad and fainting heart With nameless fear and dread.
No friendly hand stretched out to help Now, in my sore distress; Alone I struggle 'gainst the tide, In pain and weariness. 'Tis the tide of sin, stronger far Than waves on a storm-tossed sea, With relentless determination, Seems fast o'erwhelming me.
Tho in my weakness I have tried, Again and yet again, Back the treacherous waves to beat, I find 'tis all in vain. Recoiling they return again, Thrice stronger than before; My strength and courage are all gone; I must give the battle o'er;
For I feel I am weakly sinking Beneath the murky foam. 'Tis useless longer to struggle Against such odds alone. Then, 'midst the raging of the storm, Above the ceaseless din, Come the words so well remembered Of a sweet olden hymn.
Repeating it over wearily, In anguish and despair, Then o'er again more earnestly, It is at last a prayer. No prayer more fitting there could be: O "Lover of my soul," It is my last and only hope, While billows near me roll.
“While the tempest still is high,” Lord, “Hide me till the storm is past,” Then “safe into the haven guide, “O receive my soul at last!” And now the Lord doth hear my cry, And doth no longer wait. I have learned to know my weakness, And my need is great.
Ah, see! the cloud is lifting now, A light shines o'er the main; I now can see where I must go; The way is made so plain. I could not find the way alone; For a narrow space is seen Where I must pass, to gain the shore, Whirlpools and rocks between.
The waves may thunder, rage, and leap, They can not now o'erwhelm; For I trust in my Redeemer, His hand is at the helm. For my drenched and soiled garments, He gives a robe so clean, 'Tis the robe of his righteousness, Of pure and spotless sheen.
Wasioja, Minn.