The real story behind this song is a testimony in itself.
In October of 1871, a wealthy businessman named Horatio Spafford encountered the first of two life altering events, as the Great Chicago Fire stole away his livelihood and ruined him financially. The second would come just a short time later when all four of his daughters would die at sea as a result of a collision with another ship. Several weeks later, Spafford's own ship would pass by the place where his daughters died, and the Holy Spirit would inspire the lyrics that we all know today. The music was penned three years later by Philip P. Bliss who, ironically, died in a tragic train wreck shortly after writing the music.
Though the song is laced with tragedy, it stands as a reminder of the hope that the Christian has when faced with adverse situations. Nobody ever said that life would be easy, but the Christian knows that he is not alone and that there is a greater plan in play. Even when it seems like the walls are crumbling to the ground and there is no hope left to be found, believers know that someday they will be in glory forever with Christ. There, all of life's worries will fall away and everything will be just as it should be.
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IT IS WELL WITH MY SOUL
Music by: Philip P. Bliss (1876)
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”
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.
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,
Even so, it is well with my soul.