When I sink down in gloom or fear,

Hope blighted or delayed,

Thy whisper, Lord, my heart shall cheer,

“’Tis I: be not afraid!”

2 Or, startled at some sudden blow,

If fretful thoughts I feel,

“Fear not, it is but I!” shall flow

As balm my wound to heal.

3 Nor will I quit thy way, though foes

Some onward pass defend;

From each rough voice the watchword goes,

“Be not afraid! ... a friend!”

4 And O! when judgment’s trumpet clear

Awakes me from the grave,

Still in its echo may I hear,

“’Tis Christ! he comes to save.”