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 has 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 the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life,
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

But Lord, ‘tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord!
Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul.

And Lord haste the day when my 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.

It is well with my soul -
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

~ Horatio Spafford

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All is well

Photographed by Jennifer Weber at Riverside Cemetery on December 17, 2012

Asheville, North Carolina

My soul in sad exile was out on life's sea,
So burdened with sin and distressed,
Till I heard a sweet voice saying make Me your choice
And I entered the Haven of Rest.

I yielded myself to His tender embrace,
And faith taking hold of the Word,
My fetters fell off, and I anchored my soul
The Haven of Rest is my Lord.

The song of my soul since the Lord made me whole
Has been the old story so blest
Of Jesus, who'll save whosoever will have
A home in the Haven of Rest.

O come to the Savior, He patiently waits
To save by His power divine;
Come anchor your soul in the Haven of Rest,
And say, my Beloved is mine.

I've anchored my soul in the Haven of Rest,
I'll sail the wide seas no more
The tempest may sweep o'er the wild, stormy deep,
In Jesus I'm safe evermore.

~ Henry Lake Gilmour

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I've Anchored My Soul

Photographed by Jennifer Weber at Riverside Cemetery on December 17, 2012

Asheville, North Carolina

How far is it called to the grave?
The child looked up from its play.
The grave? I have not heard of the grave.
It must be far away.

How far is it called to the grave?
The lover looked up with a smile.
How far? From the golden land of love
It must be many a mile.

He could not see that his darling
With the bridal flowers in her hair,
As he gave her the wedding token,
Was almost there.

How far is it called to the grave?
The mother looked up with a tear,
The rose in her cheek grew pale and white,
Her heart stood still with fear.

How far? O ‘tis close to the hearthstone;
Alas for the baby feet,
The little bare feet that all unled,
Are going with step so fleet,
And they are almost there.

How far is it called to the grave?
It is only a life, dear friend,
And the longest life is short at last,
And soon our lives must end.

But there is One Who arose from the grave,
Who ascended triumphant on high,
With our trust in Him, we’ll know no sting,
Though low in the graves we lie,
And we’re almost there.

~Unknown~

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Little Angel

Photographed by Jennifer Weber at Mount Bethel United Methodist Church Cemetery on March 16, 2012

McDonough, Georgia

Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this? ~John 11:25-26

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Autumn in a cemetery

Photographed by Jennifer Weber on October 30, 2010

Columbia, South Carolina