THE CHANNEL

The wind where it listeth here does blow,
‘Tis such a haunting sense;
From whence it comes? Where does it go?
And who has sent it hence?
As in the Spirit here I walk
‘Tis such a feel as this;
I live and move and think and talk
By a breath that I could miss.

If careless I should come to be,
My attention left to drift,
Then how to move I could not see,
My course again would shift,
For the gentle breath that moves my bark
Along this altered course
Would resistance cause to miss its mark,
My movement change its source.

For in the stream where I would stay
The currents are laid out
To move my bark along the way
Where One has marked the route;
Into the wind my sails I set
And hold them steady there,
For I must learn not to forget
That He for me does care.

When it seems some storm would turn me o’er,
And I the helm must grasp,
If I would ever reach the shore
And in His glory bask;
‘Tis then that careful I must be
To never lay my hand
On the pilot wheel if I would see
The green hills of the land.

And if some other ship I meet
As I sail on my way
And there its occupants should greet
On my course I must stay;
Tho’ tales of horror they can tell
Of what lies in my path;
I am at peace-know all is well,
Regard not the wrath

Of which they speak-have seen they say
Around the lurking curve;
In truth they have not passed that way,
Their bark was made to swerve
Past horrors grim and frightful things
As they their will would do;
They know not of the heart that sings
Resting here in You.