Whatever my lot
Horatio G. Spafford went through a great trial, that inspired the writing of this moving hymn.
In 1883 Spafford, his wife and their four daughters planned to sail over to Britain, to join D.L Moody on one of his evangelistic campaigns. Just as they were about to embark on the steamer that was to carry them across the Atlantic, sudden business came up preventing Spafford from sailing. However he sent his family on ahead of him. But during the crossing, the steamer had a collision with a British vessel, 'the Lochearn, And The ship sank in less than 12 minuets claiming the lives of 226 people. Nine days after Spafford's family set sail from New york, he received a telegram from his wife that merely said, "Saved alone".
Upon hearing this news, Spafford immediately boarded a ship and set sail to join his beavered wife in Wales. In the middle of the voyage the captain called him up on deck, and showed him the place where Annie, Maggie, Bessie and Tanetta had drowned. As he gazed into the depths of the water, he felt sorrow like sea billows rolling over him, but also the peace of God in his soul. He went back to his cabin and it was there that he penned these touching lines.
When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
Refrain
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
Though Satan should 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.
Refrain
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, O my soul!
Refrain
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.
Refrain
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!
Blessèd hope, blessèd rest of my soul!
Refrain
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.
Refrain
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