LIII.

Rwy'n morio tua chartre'm Nêr

8,6,8,6

Toward heaven, my Father's home, I steer,

Tossed on the billowy flood:

A man that hath no purpose here

Save seeking for his God.

Let me not swerve to right or left,

Or of thy guidance tire;

Kept in the course that heavenward leads,

Through gulphs of flood and fire.

Opposing tempests beat me back,

And I have strength no more;

O take me, Jesus, in thine arms,

And bear to yonder shore.