The Storm. By Derjavin

As my bark in restless ocean
Mounts its rough and foaming hills,
Whilst its waves in dark commotion
Pass me, hope my bosom fills.

Who, when warring clouds are gleaming,
Quenches the destructive spark?
Say what hand, where safety’s beaming,
Guides through rocks my little bark?

Thou Creator! all o’erseeing,
In this scene preserv’st me dread,
Thou, without whose word decreeing
Not a hair falls from my head.

Thou in life hast doubly blest me,
All my soul to thee’s revealed,
Thou amongst the great hast placed me,
Be midst them my guide and shield!