Weeping may last through the night… but joy comes with the morning. Psalm 30:5
In 1873 Horatio Spafford penned the words to what is still today a popular hymn, “It Is Well With My Soul.”
This is his story.
Horatio was a wealthy, prominent lawyer in the mid-1800’s in Chicago. He and his wife, Anna, built a more-than-comfortable life together. They owned a large, Victorian home in the city. They had four daughters and one son. And a devout Christian faith.
Tragically, their young son died.
Shortly after his passing, Chicago went up in smoke. In the wake of the blaze that destroyed most of the city, the Spaffords lost almost all of their real estate investments. Amid their grief and loss, the family decided to accompany D.L. Moody on a missions trip to Europe. They sought solace.
Last minute business kept Horatio back. He sent his wife and daughters ahead of him, planning to join them later. While on the journey, the ship that carried Anna and her daughters collided with another ship. Anna was the sole survivor of the Spafford family.
Days later Horatio received word. All of his children were dead.
He immediately made arrangements to join his grief-stricken wife in England. These are the words he penned as he crossed the watery grave that held the bodies of his four daughters.
- 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, 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. - 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! - 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.
So I must ask myself today, amid my grief and loss, is it well with my soul?
