‘ T IS I — BE NOT AFRAID.

Dark hung the clouds o'er Galilee;

A lonely bark was on the sea,

Where wild the billows played;

Deep terror filled each trembling frame,

When suddenly the accents came,

“‘ T is I — be not afraid!”

A martyr stood with tranquil air;

He saw the stake, the fetters there,

The fagots all arrayed;

But, though such darkness reigned around,

He caught the sweet, the cheering sound,

“‘ T is I — be not afraid!”

A weary pilgrim roamed alone;

For him was breathed no friendly tone,

No friendly hand brought aid;

But through the gloom so dark and drear,

A gentle whisper reached his ear,

“‘ T is I — be not afraid!”

A mother knelt in anguish wild

Beside a loved, a dying child,

And tears in torrents strayed;

A soothing voice breathed to her heart,

In tones that bade despair depart,

“‘ T is I — be not afraid!”

Upon a bed of pain and death

A Christian faintly drew his breath,

With spirit half dismayed;

He heard a soft, a tender voice —

It caused that spirit to rejoice —

“‘ T is I — be not afraid!”

A penitent with streaming eye

Raised unto heaven his doleful cry,

And fervently he prayed;

A brilliant light around him shone,

And with it came a heavenly tone,

“‘ T is I-be not afraid!”

And when the trump from yonder skies

Shall bid the silent dead arise;

When suns and stars shall fade;

When thunders roar, and mountains fall;

The saints shall hear above them all,

“‘ T is I-be not afraid!”