"The livelong night we've toiled in vain,
 But at Thy gracious word
I will let down the net again:-
 Do Thou Thy will, O Lord!"

So spake the weary fisher, spent
 With bootless darkling toil,
Yet on his Master's bidding bent
 For love and not for spoil.

So day by day and week by week,
 In sad and weary thought,
They muse, whom God hath set to seek
 The souls His Christ hath bought.

For not upon a tranquil lake
 Our pleasant task we ply,
Where all along our glistening wake
 The softest moonbeams lie;

Where rippling wave and dashing oar
 Our midnight chant attend,
Or whispering palm-leaves from the shore
 With midnight silence blend.

Sweet thoughts of peace, ye may not last:
 Too soon some ruder sound
Calls us from where ye soar so fast
 Back to our earthly round.

For wildest storms our ocean sweep:-
 No anchor but the Cross
Might hold: and oft the thankless deep
 Turns all our toil to loss.

Full many a dreary anxious hour
 We watch our nets alone
In drenching spray, and driving shower,
 And hear the night-bird's moan:

At morn we look, and nought is there;
 Sad dawn of cheerless day!
Who then from pining and despair
 The sickening heart can stay?

There is a stay--and we are strong;
 Our Master is at hand,
To cheer our solitary song,
 And guide us to the strand.

In His own time; but yet a while
 Our bark at sea must ride;
Cast after cast, by force or guile
 All waters must be tried:

By blameless guile or gentle force,
 As when He deigned to teach
(The lode-star of our Christian course)
 Upon this sacred beach.

Should e'er thy wonder-working grace
 Triumph by our weak arm,
Let not our sinful fancy trace
 Aught human in the charm:

To our own nets ne'er bow we down,
 Lest on the eternal shore
The angels, while oar draught they own,
 Reject us evermore:

Or, if for our unworthiness
 Toil, prayer, and watching fail,
In disappointment Thou canst bless,
 So love at heart prevail.