My Anchor Holds
Though the angry surges roll On my tempest-driven soul,
I am peaceful, for I know, Wildly though the winds may blow,
I've an anchor safe and sure, That can evermore endure.
And it holds, my anchor holds;
Blow your wildest, then, O gale,
On my bark so small and frail;
By His grace I shall not fail,
For my anchor holds,
My anchor holds.
Mighty tides about me sweep, Perils lurk within the deep,
Angry clouds o'ershade the sky, And the tempest rises high;
Still I stand the tempest's shock, For my anchor grips the Rock.
I can feel the anchor fast As I meet each sudden blast,
And the cable, though unseen, Bears the heavy strain between;
Through the storm I safely ride, Till the turning of the tide.
Troubles almost 'whelm the soul; Griefs like billows o'er me roll;
Tempters seek to lure astray; Storms obscure the light of day:
But in Christ I can be bold, I've an anchor that shall hold.
W. C. Martin
Daniel B. Towner