The Master, in that hour. Then, his blest voice
Assur'd their fainting hearts, and full of joy,
Peter, with eager footstep, fain would go
To meet his Lord.
The loud and boisterous blast
Swept through his locks, and the cold surge rose high
Around his shuddering breast, and his foot fail'd
Amid the awful tides.
"Oh save!" he cried,—
"Save! or I perish!"
Jesus stretch'd his hand
And snatch'd him from the waves. Then on the deck
Amid the glad disciples, safe he stood,
Fill'd with adoring gratitude,—while all
Gave praise and glory to the Son of God.
So Peter learn'd it was not given to man
To plant his foot upon the stormy main
And rule its wrath, for in its thundering might
It sweeps him like a noteless weed away.
This Bible story was most sweet to me,
As on my childish ear, from lips revered,
At eventide it fell. And much I mused
