The Boat

The Boat

I owned a little boat a while ago.

And sailed the morning sea without a fear.

And whither any breeze might fairly blow

I steered my little craft afar and near.

Mine was the boat

and mine the air.

And mine the sea.

Nor mine a care.

My boat became my place of mighty toil.

I sailed at evening to the fishing ground.

At morn my boat was freighted with the spoil

Which my all-conquering work had found.

Mine was the boat.

And mine the net

And mine the skill

And power to get.

One day there came along that silent shore.

While I my net was casting the sea.

A man who spoke as never man before.

I followed Him; new life began in me.

Mine was the boat

But His the voice.

And His the call.

Yet mine the choice.

Ah! 'twas a fearful night. out on the lake.

And all my skill availed not, at the helm.

Till Him asleep I waked, crying, "Take

Thou the helm - lest water overwhelm!"

And His the boat.

And His the sea.

And His the peace.

O'er all and me.

Once from the boat He taught the curious throng

Then bade me cast my net into the sea,

I murmured but obeyed, nor was it long

Before the catch amazed and humbled me.

His was the boat.

And His the skill

And His the catch.

And His my will.

- George MacDonald