The night is dark, the Master is not come;
The sea arises, and on every side the waves
Gigantic, black, and topped with lurid crests of foam,
Leap madly through the gloom. Labors the little ship,
Hurled to and fro and beaten back upon her course.
With slow and stubborn stroke the rowers wearily
Are straining at the heavy oars. But hark! above
The sullen roar of wind and sea, a well-loved voice,
Vibrant and sweet with chords of heavenly music, speaks,
And they were sore afraid; but He saith unto them,