His, my will

I owned a little boat a while ago

And sailed a Morning sea without a fear

And whither any breeze might fairly blow

I'd steer the craft afar or near.

Mine was the boat, and mine the air,

And mine the sea; not mine, a care.

My boat became my place of nightly toil.

I sailed at sunset to the fishing ground,

At morn, the boat was freighted with the spoil

That my all-conquering work and skill had found.

Mine was the boat, and mine the net,

And mine the skill, the power to get

One day there passed along the silent shore,

While I my net was casting in the sea,

A man, who spoke as never man before;

I followed Him - new life begun in me.

Mine was the boat, but His the voice,

And His the call; yet mine, the choice.

Ah, 'twas a fearful night out on the lake,

And all my skill availed not at the helm,

Till Him asleep I awaken, crying "Take,

Take Thou command, lest waters overwhelm!"

His was the boat, and His the sea,

And His the Peace o'er all and me.

Once from His boat He taught the curious throng,

Then bade me let down nets out in the Sea;

I murmured, but obeyed, nor was it long

Before the catch amazed and humbled me.

His was the boat and His the skill,

And His the catch - and His, my will.

- Joseph Addison Richards