O that the race of men would raise <br />Their voices to their heavenly King, <br />And with the sacrifice of praise <br />The glories of Jehovah sing! <br />Ye navigators of the sea, <br />Your course on ocean's tides who keep, <br />And there Jehovah's wonders see, <br />His wonders in the briny deep! <br />He speaks; conflicting whirlwinds fly; <br />The waves in swelling torrents flow; <br />They mount, aspire to heaven on high; <br />They sink, as if to hell below: <br />Their souls with terror melt away; <br />They stagger as if drunk with wine <br />Their skill is vain,-to thee they pray; <br />0, save them, Energy divine! <br />He stays the storm; the waves subside; <br />Their hearts with rapture are inspired; <br />Soft breezes waft them o'er the tide, in gladness, to their port desired:<br /><br />John Quincy Adams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/version-of-the-one-hundred-seventh-psalm/
