Words: , 1874:

Dr. Palmer re­quest­ed me to pre­pare sev­er­al songs on the sub­ject of the cur­rent Sun­day-school les­sons. One of the themes was “Christ Still­ing the Tem­pest.” It so ex­pressed an ex­per­i­ence I had recent­ly passed through, that this hymn was the re­sult. A very dear and only bro­ther, a young man of rare love­li­ness and prom­ise of char­ac­ter, had been laid in the grave, a vic­tim of the same di­sease that had al­ready tak­en fa­ther and mo­ther. His death oc­curred un­der pe­cul­iarly dis­tress­ing cir­cum­stances. He was more than a thou­sand miles away from home, seek­ing in the balmy air of the sun­ny South the heal­ing that our cold­er cli­mate could not give. Sud­den­ly he grew worse. The writ­er was ill and could not go to him. For two weeks the long lines of tel­e­graph wires car­ried back and forth mes­sages be­tween the dy­ing brother and his wait­ing sisters, ere the word came which told us that our be­loved brother was no longer a dwell­er on the earth. Al­though we mourned not as those with­out hope, and al­though I had be­lieved on Christ in ear­ly child­hood and had al­ways de­sired to give the Master a con­se­crat­ed and obed­i­ent life, I became wick­ed­ly re­bell­i­ous at this dis­pen­sa­tion of di­vine prov­i­dence. I said in my heart that God did not care for me or mine. But the Master’s own voice stilled the tem­pest in my un­sanc­ti­fied heart, and brought it to the calm of a deep­er faith and a more per­fect trust.

When American president James Gar­field was as­sas­sin­at­ed in 1881, the hymn was sung at sev­er­al of the fun­er­al serv­ic­es held in his hon­or throug­hout the count­ry.

Music: , 1874.

Master, the tempest is raging!
The billows are tossing high!
The sky is o'ershadow with blackness,
No shelter or help is nigh;
Carest Thou not that we perish?
How canst Thou lie asleep,
When each moment so madly is threatening
A grave in the angry deep?


The winds and the waves shall obey Thy will,
Peace, be still!
Whether the wrath of the storm tossed sea,
Or demons or men, or whatever it be
No waters can swallow the ship where lies
The Master of ocean, and earth, and skies;
They all shall sweetly obey Thy will,
Peace, be still! Peace, be still!
They all shall sweetly obey Thy will,
Peace, peace, be still!

Master, with anguish of spirit
I bow in my grief today;
The depths of my sad heart are troubled
Oh, waken and save, I pray!
Torrents of sin and of anguish
Sweep o’er my sinking soul;
And I perish! I perish! dear Master
Oh, hasten, and take control.


Master, the terror is over,
The elements sweetly rest;
Earth’s sun in the calm lake is mirrored,
And heaven’s within my breast;
Linger, O blessèd Redeemer!
Leave me alone no more;
And with joy I shall make the blest harbor,
And rest on the blissful shore.