On November 22nd, 146 years ago in 1873, a terrible tragedy gave birth to one of the most beloved hymns in the English-speaking church. Horatio Spafford was a Christian business man and lawyer, who lost his 4 daughters, when the ship that his wife and children were on tragically sank in the cold waters of the northern Atlantic. Only Spafford’s wife survived. After she was rescued, she immediately sent the telegram in the picture (as preserved in the Library of Congress) above to her husband. It reads,
"Saved alone what shall I do. Mrs [Daniel] Goodwin [friend] Children [Annie, Maggie, Bessie, and Tanetta Spafford] Willie Culver [neighbor boy] lost go with [Rev.] Lorriaux [French minister, a fellow survivor of shipwreck] until answer reply . . . Paris. [Anna] Spafford."
Mr. Spafford immediately cut short his business dealings in the USA and set sail to join her in England. As his ship passed over the place where the ship carrying his daughters had sank, he retired to his cabin and penned the lyrics of this great hymn to express his deep grief and also his unwavering hope and trust in the Lord. Never could Mr. Spafford have imagined, that in the sovereignty of God, the darkest depths of his unimaginable grief would give birth to enduring words of biblical truth and peace for countless believers to come.
Believer, if all that was valuable to you was buried in the depths of the sea or swept away by the winds of time, would your soul still be anchored in Christ Jesus? Would it be well with your soul?
Soli Deo Gloria! Glory to God alone!
It Is Well With My Soul
When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to know
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
Refrain
It is well, (it is well),
With my soul, (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 the faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
A song in the night, oh my soul!
