Take My Hand, Precious Lord
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
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 blessed assurance control
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate
And hath shed His own blood for my soul
It is well, with my soul
It is well, with my soul
It is well, it is well, with 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!
It is well, with my soul
It is well, with my soul
It is well, it is well, with 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
It is well, with my soul
It is well, with my soul
It is well, it is well, with my soul
