Thanks to my wife for this one…
“When I lie down, I say, When shall I arise, and the night be gone? and I am full of tossing to and fro unto the dawning of the day.” Job 7:4 KJV
During a time of unbelievable tragedy, Horatio Gates Spafford wrote a song of hope and faith. Spafford, a deeply spiritual man, built a successful law practice in Chicago just after the Civil War. He had five children: four girls and a boy. But like Job, Spafford endured great hardships.
Spafford’s young son died of pneumonia. Four months later, Spafford lost all of his property and wealth in the Great Chicago Fire. After so much distress, Spafford’s family planned a trip to join his good friend, Dwight L. Moody, in Great Britain. But unfinished business forced Spafford to stay behind while his wife and daughters went ahead by ship. On that voyage, Spafford lost all four daughters in a shipwreck, with only his wife surviving.
It was while sailing to join his wife that he received the inspiration for his greatest work and testimony. Looking out from the ship at the site where his daughters had drowned, he thought he couldn’t bear any more pain. Then he recalled this Scripture: For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son (John 3:16 KJV). Spafford realized that he would see his children again. Praying with a heart filled with that hope, Spafford uttered, “Whatever my lot, it is well with my soul.”
Spafford put his thoughts on paper. After he and his wife returned home from Europe, Philip P. Bliss composed a tune to accompany Spafford’s poem. The result is one of the best-loved hymns of all time.
If you think you cannot bear any more pain and feel all is lost, remember that God gave all He had and knows what you are facing. Read this beloved hymn and know that it is well with your soul:
When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
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 shall buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
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 oh my soul!
For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
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.
But, Lord, ’tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal:
Oh trump of the angel! Oh voice of the Lord!
Blessed hope, Blessed rest of my soul!
And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
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.