How wonderful it is to walk with God
Along the road that holy men have trod;
How wonderful it is to hear Him say:
Fear not, have faith, ’tis I who lead the way!

How wonderful it is to talk with God
When cares sweep o’er my spirit like a flood;
How wonderful it is to hear His voice,
For when He speaks the desert lands rejoice!

How wonderful it is to praise my God,
Who comforts and protects me with His rod;
How wonderful to praise him every hour,
My heart attuned to sing His wondrous power!

How wonderful it is to fight for God,
And point poor sinners to the precious blood;
How wonderful it is to wield His sword
’Gainst sin, the enemy of Christ, my Lord!

How wonderful ’twill be to live with God
When I have crossed death’s deep and swelling flood;
How wonderful to see Him face to face
When I have fought the fight and won the race!

The storm in all its fury
Swept dark Gennesaret;
They cried in vain for succor,
Till Hope’s lone star had set;
Then Christ came on the waters
In answer to their cry,
And spake in tones of comfort,
“Fear not, for it is I.
Fear not, for it is I.”

And life has days of darkness,
When thick the storm-clouds lower.
When waves dash fiercely round thee,
And threaten to devour;
But still thou need’st not falter,
There’s One forever nigh,
Who speaks above the tempest,
“Fear not, for it is I.
Fear not, for it is I.”

He walks the waves beside thee,
No storm can drive Him thence;
He bids the waters bear thee,
His arm is thy defense;
His face shines on the billows,
Let all thy terror fly;
Fear not to trust in Jesus,
He beckons, “It is I,”
He beckons, “It is I.”

When the dark waves round us roll,
And we look in vain for aid,
Speak, Lord, to the trembling soul,
“It is I; be not afraid.”

When we dimly trace Thy form
In mysterious clouds arrayed,
Be the echo of the storm,
“It is I; be not afraid.”

When our brightest hopes depart,
When our fairest visions fade,
Whisper to the fainting heart,
“It is I; be not afraid.”

When we weep beside the bier
Where some well-loved form is laid,
O may then the mourner hear,
“It is I; be not afraid.”

When with wearing hopeless pain
Sinks the spirit, sore dismayed,
Breathe Thou then the comfort-strain,
“It is I; be not afraid.”

When we feel the end is near,
Passing into death’s dark shade,
May the voice be strong and clear,
“It is I; be not afraid.”