Classic Poem

When I sink down in gloom or fear,
Hope blighted or delay'd,
Thy whisper, Lord, my heart shall cheer,
" 'Tis I; be not afraid! "

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.

Nor will I quit Thy way, though foes
Some onward pass defend;
From each rough voice the watchword goes,
" Be not afraid! . . . a friend! "

And oh! when judgment's trumpet clear
Awakes me from the grave,
Still in its echo may I hear,
" 'Tis Christ; He comes to save. "