Introduction
One Sunday evening in 1847, the Revd Henry Lyte was overwhelmed with sadness. He had just celebrated his last communion service at Brixham after twenty-four years of ministry, and was preparing to go abroad in a last effort to save his failing health. As he looked out to sea these words came to him, as they came to nurse Edith Cavell shortly before she was shot in 1915.
Abide with us: for it is toward evening.
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, O abide with me!
2 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!
3 I need thy presence every passing hour,
What but thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?
Who like thyself my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, abide with me!
4 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!
5 Reveal thyself before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies.
Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee.
In life and death, Lord, abide with me!
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