In a sense, what the disciples experienced that night on the sea was ultimate xenophobia—the fear of the ultimate Stranger, of One who was unlike every other man.
— R.C. Sproul
He thundered louder than the clouds:
“Shut up! Enough!”
No back-talk, shrugs.
The eerie silence just as loud.
Woke up from sleep
The deck was steep
But a mere command was issued.
There by the mast
They had to ask,
“You ain’t from around here, are you?”
Jesus, David’s Son, please stop by!
I don’t seek
Seats on glorious thrones by Your side.
Than for You to command my eyes,
My good King,
So I’ll sing
Of the glories of David’s Christ.
Count it all joy, beloved ones,
When sorely tried,
For He who died
Will not stop His work until done.
You will endure
Until you’re pure
For saving you is His delight.
At last He’ll prove
All doubt remove
When on that day faith becomes sight.
Athletes amaze us when they throw
And fifty, sixty yards it goes.
Worth our praise–
Must He be who hurls the typhoons,
Throws ope’ doors
Of hails’ stores,
Commands the lightning bolt platoons.