A little cross marks his grave in the English cemetery at Nice, for he was buried there. Every year hundreds of pilgrims visit his grave and tell touching stories of how Lyte’s hymn brought them to faith in Christ Jesus.
It was Lyte’s life-long wish that he might leave behind him such a hymn as this. In an earlier poem he had voiced the longing that he might write
Some simple strain, some spirit-moving lay,
Some sparklet of the soul that still might live
When I was passed to clay....
O Thou! whose touch can lend
Life to the dead, Thy quick’ning grace supply,
And grant me, swanlike, my last breath to spend
In song that may not die!
Lyte’s prayer was fulfilled. As long as men shall worship the crucified and risen Lord, so long will they continue to sing the sad and beautiful words of Lyte’s swan song.