Lik' souls a-toss'd at sea I bore
Sad strokes o' trial, shock by shock,
An' now, lik' souls a-cast ashore
To rest upon the beaeten rock,
I still do seem to hear the sound
O' weaeves that drove me vrom my track,
An' zee my strugglen hopes a-drown'd,
An' all my jays a-floated back.
By storms a-toss'd, I'll gi'e God praise,
Wi' much a-lost I still ha' jays.
My peace is rest, my faith is hope,
An' freedom's my unbounded scope.
Vor faith mid blunt the sting o' fear,
An' peace the pangs ov ills a-vound,
An' freedom vlee vrom evils near,
Wi' wings to vwold on other ground,
Wi' much a-lost, my loss is small,
Vor though ov e'thly goods bereft,
A thousand times well worth em all
Be they good blessens now a-left.
What e'th do own, to e'th mid vall,
But what's my own my own I'll call,
My faith, an' peaece, the gifts o' greaece,
An' freedom still to shift my pleaece.
When I've a-had a tree to screen
My meal-rest vrom the high zunn'd-sky,
Or ivy-holden wall between
My head an' win's a-rustlen by,
I had noo call vor han's to bring
Their seaev'ry dainties at my nod,
But stoop'd a-drinken vrom the spring,
An' took my meal, wi' thanks to God,
Wi' faith to keep me free o' dread,
An' peaece to sleep wi' steadvast head,
An' freedom's hands, an' veet unbound
To woone man's work, or woone seaeme ground.