When the violent floodgates open wide their tears of fury, raging waves of rage concealed in apathetic vessel, who is the fittest captain of my soul?
When plunged by billows into depths unknown, or depths known all too well, cavernous wells of despondent repose, who is the fittest captain of my soul?
When ebb and flow of doubtful despair into gorges and mountains grow, piercing me by peaks and into valleys throw, who is the fittest captain of my soul?
Stood on storm, wept with tears, sweat with blood, crossed by men, pierced by wrath, cast in tomb, rose to life, sits on throne, comes as king, reigns on earth, Jesus, Captain of my soul.
A Boy and his Bible 
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