948. L. M. Keble.
"Abide with us, for it is towards evening, and the day is far spent."
1'Tis gone, that bright and orbéd blaze,
Fast fading from our wistful gaze;
Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight
The last faint pulse of quivering light.
2Sun of my soul! thou Saviour dear,
It is not night if thou be near:
Oh may no earth-born cloud arise
To hide thee from thy servant's eyes.
3When the soft dews of kindly sleep
My wearied eyelids gently steep,
Be my last thought now sweet to rest
Forever on my Saviour's breast.
4Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without thee I cannot live;
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without thee I dare not die.