In Mid-Sea

Far out on the ocean wide,
Far out in a fragile boat,
I am swung on the swaying tide
As lonesomely I float;
Far out from my moorings old,
And the sands I may see no more;
While the mid-sea spray is cold,
As I sweep to an unknown shore.

And the hands that taught my hand,
When first I toyed with the oar,
In the shallows near to the land.
Are my guiding hands no more
As I toss on the sea of time.
Far out from my moorings old,
And sail for an unknown clime,
While the mid-sea spray is cold.

But I trust that an unseen Form
At the helm in faithfulness guides,
To help through the stress and the storm,
And the sweep and swell of the tides;
And I trust that the unknown shore
Will bring to me good, not ill,
Though now I toil at the oar,
While the mid-sea spray is chill.