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.
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- Tune: Eventide
- Meter: 10 10 10 10
- Style: Victorian Hymn
- Composer: William Henry Monk (1823 – 1889)
- Lyricist: Henry Francis Lyte (1793 – 1847)
- Church Year: Evensong | Church Year: Funerals
- Music and Lyrics Copyright Public Domain.
- Performances Copyright ℗ 2016 Richard M S Irwin. Certain rights reserved