When the storm descends
From an angry sky,
Ah! where from the winds
Shall the vessel fly?
[Away, then--oh, fly
From the joys of earth!
Her smile is a lie--
There's a sting in her mirth.]*

When stars are concealed,
And rudder gone,
And heaven is sealed
To the wandering one

The whirlpool opes
For the gallant prize;
And, with all her hopes,
To the deep she hies!
But who may tell
Of the place of woe,
Where the wicked dwell,
Where the worldlings go?

For the human heart
Can ne'er conceive
What joys are the part
Of them who believe;
Nor can justly think
Of the cup of death,