Master the tempest is raging
The billows are tossing high
The sky is o'er shadow with blackness
No shelter or help is nigh.
Master the enemy is waiting
In the blackness and realms of night
The sins of our forefathers hint we
Who bear the mark of their inheritance.
Master we fear that we perish
Far the adversary draweth nigh
He thirsts for our blood, ever endeavouring
His end never in sight.
Master the tempest is crying
For vengence upon his blood
It draws near never ceasing
To deliver death upon our lives.
Master the tempest is raging
The tempest ceases not but quickens
And unto the gifted he says
" Peace Be Still."