When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
“It is well, it is well, with my soul.”
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
My sin - not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.
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!
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll,
The trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend,
“Even so” - it is well with my soul.