My weary eyelids gently steep,
Be my last thought, how sweet to rest
For ever on my Saviour’s breast.
3 Abide 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.
4 If some poor wandering child of thine
Have spurned to-day the voice divine,
Now, Lord, the gracious work begin;