What’s this that steals upon my frame,
Is it death? Is it death?
That soon will quench this vital flame,
Is it death? Is it death?
If this be death, I soon shall be
From ev’ry pain and sorrow free,
I shall the king of glory see,
All is well, All is well.

Tune your harps ye saints in glory,
All is well, All is well.
I will rehearse the pleasing story,
All is well, All is well.
Bright angels are from glory come,
They’re round my bed, they’re in my room,
They wait to waft my spirit home,
All is well, All is well.

Recordings 1 2 3