All Is Well

All Is Well, No. 122 in The Sacred Harp, tune arranged by J. T. White in 1844, and words possibly by Richard Jukes circa 1835.

1. What’s this that steals upon my frame?
Is it death, is it death?
That soon will quench this mortal flame,
Is it death, is it death?
If this be death, I soon shall be
From ev’ry pain and sorrow free.
I shall the King of glory see,
All is well, all is well.

2. Weep not, my friends, weep not for me,
All is well, all is well!
My sins forgiv’n and I am free,
All is well, all is well!
There’s not a cloud that doth arise,
To hide my Jesus from my eyes.
I soon shall mount the upper skies,
All is well, all is well.

3. Tune, tune your harps ye saints on high,
All is well, all is well!
I too will strike my harp with equal joy,
All is well, all is well!
Bright angels are from glory come,
They’re ’round my bed, they’re in my room,
They wait to waft my spirit home,
All is well, all is well.

4. Hark! Hark! my Lord and Master’s voice,
Calls away, calls away!
I soon shall see — enjoy my happy choice,
Why delay, why delay?
Farewell my friends, adieu, adieu,
I can no longer stay with you,
My glittering crown appears in view,
All is well, all is well!

 

To go with All Is Well, there is also the more well-known It Is Well., by Horatio Spafford (words) and Philip P. Bliss (music).

1. When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast 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.

2, Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

3. 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!

4. 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.

5. 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!

6. 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,
Even so, it is well with my soul.