BEHOLD, the gloomy vale
   Which you—my soul—must tread,
Crowded with terrors, fierce and pale,
    And leading to the dead!
2      And you, my fleshly ‘clay’,
    Long partner of my cares,
In this rough path are torn away
    With pain, regret and tears.
3      But, lo, a flood of light,
    With splendours all divine,
Breaks through those doleful realms of night
    To make the valley shine.
4      Where death and darkness reign,
    My Saviour is my stay;
He shall my trembling soul sustain,
    And guard me all the way.
5      Blest Saviour, lead me on;
    How can I yield to fear?
Death’s fearsome savours all are flown
    When Thou, O Lord, art near.
Philip Doddridge, 1702-51