Words & Music: , 1871.

Some ships cross the ocean with clear skies, smooth seas and fair winds, and come into port with stream­ers fly­ing and bands of music mak­ing ju­bi­lee. Others come in storms, with the sky black as night, the wind like a hur­ri­cane, and the sea like mount­ains—and they come in all bat­tered, yards gone, masts splin­tered, hard­ly enough left to hang to­ge­ther. But the dif­fer­ence amounts to no­thing. The on­ly im­port­ant thing from first to last is, not what the log says about storm or calm, but that they all steer close to the com­pass, and do their best to make har­bor. [If] they on­ly get there safe­ly, what hap­pened to them by the way is of no ac­count. So [it is with] God’s child­ren. There may, there will be, vast va­ri­e­ty of ex­per­i­ence: to some pros­per­i­ty, suc­cess, joy—to others, ad­ver­si­ty, de­feat, grief. But what may be your lot or mine, is of no con­se­quence. The one on­ly thing of mo­ment is, that we stick close to our chart and push for port with all our might. [If] we gain that, the plea­sures or per­ils of the way do not mat­ter.

Extract from a ser­mon preached by Dr. E. P. Good­win, First Con­gre­ga­tion­al Church, Chi­ca­go.

Philip P. Bliss, The Charm: A Col­lect­ion of Sun­day School Mu­sic (Chi­ca­go, Il­li­nois: Root & Ca­dy, 1871)

Sailor, though the darkness gathers,
Though the cold waves surge and moan,
Trust thy bark to God’s great mercy,
Falter not; sail on, sail on.


Sailing into port, what matter,
Drooping sail or shattered mast?
Glory, glory fills the harbor,
There we’ll anchor safe at last.

Sailor, though with streamers flying,
Yonder proud ship mounts the foam,
And with bands of music playing,
Gains the port and welcome home.


Sailor, though the lightning flashes,
Though thy sails be rent and torn,
Peace shall come on Hope’s bright pinions,
And deliverance with the morn.