Why Do I Drift on a Storm-Tossed Sea?

Why do I drift on a storm-tossed sea,
With neither compass, nor star, nor chart,
When, as I drift, God’s own plan for me
Waits at the door of my slow-trusting heart?

Down from the heavens it drops like a scroll,
Each day a bit will the Master unroll.
Each day a mite of the veil will He lift.
Why do I falter? Why wander and drift?

Drifting, while God’s at the helm to steer;
Groping, when God lays the course so clear;
Swerving, though straight into port I might sail;
Wrecking, when heaven lies just within hail.

Help me, O God, in the plan to believe;
Help me my fragment each day to receive.
Oh, that my will may with Thine have no strife!
God-yielded wills find the God-planned life.

--James McConkey