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.�