M. E. Barber

“WRECKED outright on Jesus’ breast”:

Only “wrecked” souls thus can sing;

Little boats that hug the shore,

Fearing what the storm may bring,

Never find on Jesus’ breast,

All that “wrecked” souls mean by rest.


“Wrecked outright!” So we lament;

But when storms have done their worst,

Then the soul, surviving all,

In Eternal arms is nursed;

There to find that nought can move

One, embosomed in such love.


“Wrecked outright!” No more to own

E’en a craft to sail the sea;

Still a voyager, yet now

Anchored to Infinity;

Nothing left to do but fling

Care aside, and simply cling.


“Wrecked outright!” ’Twas purest gain,

Henceforth other craft can see

That the storm may be a boon,

That, however rough the sea,

God Himself doth watchful stand,

For the “wreck” is in His hand.


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