What Sort of Man is This?

Out to sea with white sails shaking.

The bow cuts through the swamping waves.

Dipping, rising, billows breaking.

Pale lips cry to the one who saves.

O Captain of my soul, arise,

Rise up, North Star, and soul rejoice

One word from you and each wave dies

and howling winds hush at your voice.

The master of my fate is here.

I’m anchored in the victor’s ship.

Bells I hear, as the shore draws near.

Beyond the sea– firm in his grip.

Note: This poem is a meditation from Matthew 8:23-27

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