‘ 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!"