O where is He that trod the sea,
O where is He that spake;
And demons from their victims flee,
The dead their slumbers break:
The palsied rise in freedom strong,
The dumb men talk and sing,
And from blind eyes, benighted long,
Bright beams of morning spring?

O where is He that trod the sea,
O where is He that spake,
And piercing words of liberty
The deaf ears open shake;
And mildest words arrest the haste
Of fever’s deadly fire,
And strong ones heal the weak who waste
Their life in sad desire?

O where is He that trod the sea,
O where is He that spake,
And dark waves rolling heavily
A glassy smoothness take;
And lepers, whose own flesh has been
A solitary grave,
See with amaze that they are clean,
And cry, “’Tis He can save”?

O where is He that trod the sea?
’Tis only He can save;
To thousands hungering wearily
A wondrous meal He gave;
Full soon, celestially fed,
Their rustic fare they take;
’Twas springtide when He blest the bread,
And harvest when He brake.

O where is He that trod the sea?
My soul, the Lord is here:
Let all thy fears be hushed in thee;
To leap, to look, to hear
Be thine: thy needs He’ll satisfy.
Art thou diseased or dumb,
Or dost thou in thine hunger cry?
“I come,” saith Christ, “I come.”