Be with me, love, when weak and worn,
My life chord vibrates to and fro;
When with the flood-tide’s backward flow,
My soul stands waiting to be gone.
And let me, with my failing hand,
Hold fast to that I love so well,
Till thine clasps but an empty shell,
Amid the drift-weed on the sand.
Be with me that my closing eyes
In that last hour may seek thy face,