When sorrows, like sea-billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
My sin, O the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to His Cross, and I bear it no more;
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
For me be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live!
If death’s waters o’er me shall roll
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life,
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.
But, Lord, ’tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait;
The sky, not the grave is our goal:
O trump of the angel! O voice of the Lord!
Blessed hope! Blessed rest of my soul!
[chorus]
It is well with my soul,
It is well, it is well with my soul.