The beautiful French liner, the S. S. Ville du Havre, was headed East toward France from her latest berth in New York City. As the most luxurious ship then afloat, the Ville du Havre had a full complement of eager and prominent passengers. Among these was a party of congenial Christian friends from Chicago who had not spared themselves nor their resources in trying to help alleviate the sufferings of the many victims of the still recent Chicago fire. This ocean voyage, it was hoped, would be used of God in restoring their exhausted bodies, nerves stretched to the breaking point, and emotions sadly upset by the terrible scenes and experiences witnessed during and after the Great Fire.
One of the ladies of this Christian group was Mrs. Anna Lawson Spafford. Her four small daughters accompanied her; but her husband, Horatio Gates Spafford, detained from accompanying his family, planned to join them later in France. He had traveled with them to New York and was one of the throng that watched from the dock as the beautiful ship got under way for the long journey across the Atlantic.
Saddened by thoughts of even a brief separation from his beloved family, Mr. Spafford had committed all into the loving hands of God, his Father, and now encouraged himself with the anticipation of a not too distant reunion. In the following days, back at his office in Chicago, he was kept unusually busy, and the days slipped by.
Thus it was that like a bolt from the blue the news came. The expected cable of Mrs. Spafford's safe arrival was sent not from France, but from Wales. It followed "on the heels," as it were, of the shocking announcement of the almost unbelievable sinking of the mighty Ville du Havre. The cablegram from Mrs. Spafford bore only two words: "Saved alone."
Major Whittle, a renowned evangelist, and another close Christian friend, hastened to be with Mr. Spafford in this dark hour. All that night the grief-stricken man walked the floor in anguish. Only as day began to dawn did peace come to his troubled heart. Turning to his friends, he said: "I am glad to trust the Lord when it will cost me something."
Added to Mr. Spafford's deep sorrow was spiritual conflict. Imbued as he had been in early years with an old Puritan tenet that every trial, sickness and sorrow was the direct penalty for sin committed by the sufferer, he was now beset with questions, doubts and fears. Wherein had he failed? Whose guilt had caused this awful tragedy? Thus he searched his soul.
On the sad train trip to New York where he would embark for France Mr. Spafford wrestled with these problems and with his own poor heart. He must have deeper faith in God's goodness. He must put full trust in the Father's love.
Searching the precious Word, Horatio Spafford found his answer in John 9, first three verses: "And as Jesus passed by, He saw a man which was blind from his birth. And His disciples asked Him, saying, Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind? Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him."
What wonderful assurance of the loving-kindness of our all-wise God! Though the bereaved man was indeed passing through the valley of the shadow of death, his faith was renewed and strengthened by the final clause: "that the works of God should be made manifest in him." Did that not mean that even this heart-breaking tragedy could be used for His glory? When this possibility dawned on him, Horatio Spafford, like the apostle Paul, "thanked God and took courage."
Now Mr. Spafford was on his way to join his wife in France. On the high seas, near the place where the ship and his little girls had disappeared, out of his anguish and sorrow came a beautiful hymn that has been used of God to comfort and soothe many aching hearts. "It Is Well with My Soul," set to music by Mr. P. P. Bliss, is still a hymn to calm and inspire in times of trouble.
It Is Well With My Soul
When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea-billows roll,
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say:
"It is well, it is well with my soul."
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
My sin—oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin—not in part but the whole—
Is nailed to His cross and I bear it no more;
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, oh, my soul!
And, Lord, haste the day when faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend;
"Even so—it is well with my soul."
For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live
Though Jordan above me may roll;
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.