Sometimes it seems my life is a wood sailing ship,

An old three-masted ship, like Columbus’ trip.

An Atlantic journey across uncharted seas,

Some days pleasant and calm enjoying ocean’s breeze.

 

But so many days seem like sailing in a mist.

It’s hard to see the shore, a wrong turn did I miss?

On nights the clouds hide stars, no North Star can adjust,

Just a compass in hand is all that I can trust.

 

The north Atlantic storm is shrieking and scowling,

Every sail has been torn by the fierce winds’ howling.

The icy bitter cold makes holding on the helm

Impossible to steer; bone-chilled and overwhelmed.

 

In the dark of the night we must be near the shore!

The pounding of the waves, the crashing and the roar!

But fogbank is so thick, beaching so perilous.

A ship on jagged rocks? The danger treacherous!

 

Though the compass tells me which way that I should sail.

How to avoid the crags? Our journey sure to fail!

The fog hides the peril, it’s shipwreck that I fear.

The look of doom is clear; the haze, the fog, the blear.

 

But look! Against all hope, dire lost in fearful’s maze

Shines a faint light’s beacon piercing through the gray haze!

I hear the Captain say, “Shoreward! Follow that light!”

Does the light shine brightest in the darkest of night?

 

Not the howling of wind, neither fog nor its strain,

Not dark clouds of winter, nor confusion of pain;

The lighthouse ever sure, will lead me to the shore.

Keep my eye on the Light; He’s faithful evermore.