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;