Abide with Me (Henry F. Lyte)

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide; 

The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide; 

When other helpers fail and comforts flee, 

Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me. 

Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day; 

Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away; 

Change and decay in all around I see— 

O Thou who changest not, abide with me. 

I need Thy presence every passing hour; 

What but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s pow’r? 

Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be? 

Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me. 

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;

Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness;

Where is death’s sting?  Where, grave, thy victory?

I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;

Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies;

Heav’n’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee;

In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

--Henry F. Lyte, 1847

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