Adapted from the words by Henry Francis Lyte
“Leaves From the Vine” (8.11.8.8)
Abide with me; ’tis eventide;
the darkness deepens, O Lord, with me abide.
When helpers fail, and comforts flee,
comfort me, Lord; abide with me.
Swift to its close ebbs out life’s day;
earth’s joys are growing dim; how they pass away!
Change and decay in all I see;
Thou changest not; abide with me.
I need Thyself each passing hour;
what but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?
Who like Thyself my guide can be?
In cloud and fire, abide with me.
I fear no foe with Thee to bless;
ills have no weight to me; tears, no bitterness.
Where is Death’s sting? Grave’s victory?
I triumph still; abide with me.
Hold Thou Thy cross before mine eyes;
shine through the gloomy night; point me to the skies.
Heav’n’s morning breaks; earth’s shadows flee;
in life and death, abide with me.