599		10 10. 10 10
	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	Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word; But as Thou dwelt with Thy disciples, Lord, Familiar, condescending, patient, free, Come not to sojourn, but 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	Keep, Lord, Thy cross 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, in death, O Lord, abide with me.
	Henry Francis Lyte, 1793-1847