When the dark waves round us roll, And we look in vain for aid, Speak, Lord, to the trembling soul, “It is I; be not afraid.” When we dimly trace Thy form In mysterious clouds arrayed, Be the echo of the storm, “It is I; be not afraid.” When our brightest hopes depart, When our fairest visions fade, Whisper to the fainting heart, “It is I; be not afraid.” When we weep beside the bier Where some well-loved form is laid, O may then the mourner hear, “It is I; be not afraid.” When with wearing hopeless pain Sinks the spirit, sore dismayed, Breathe Thou then the comfort-strain, “It is I; be not afraid.” When we feel the end is near, Passing into death’s dark shade, May the voice be strong and clear, “It is I; be not afraid.” |