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.