Though Satan should buffet, tho trials should
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 tho't:
My sin not in part, but the whole
Is nail'd to the cross and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
And, Lord, haste the day when the faith shall
The clouds be roll'd back as a scroll,
The trump shall re-sound and the Lord shall
"Even, so," it is well with my soul.
It is well with my soul, It is well, it is well with my soul.