Toss'd with rough winds, and faint with fear,

Above the tempest, soft and clear,

What still small accents greet mine ear?

‘Tis I; be not afraid.

‘Tis I, who washed thy spirit white;

‘Tis I, who gave thy blind eyes sight;

‘Tis I, thy Lord, thy life, thy light:

‘Tis I; be not afraid.

These raging winds, this surging sea.

Have spent their deadly force on Me:

They bear no breath of wrath to thee:

Tis I; be not afraid.

This bitter cup, I drank it first;

To thee it is no draught accurst;

The hand that gives it thee is pierced:

Tis I, be not afraid.

Mine eyes are watching by thy bed,

Mine arms are underneath thy head,

My blessing is around thee shed

‘Tis I, be not afraid.

When on the other side thy feet

Shall rest, mid thousand welcomes sweet,

One well-known Voice thy heart shall greet,

‘Tis I, be not afraid.