“Abide With Me”—a hymn; text by Henry Francis Lyte (1793-1847); tune-- Eventide by William Henry Monk.
Little provides me with solace. My inner self often feels like the Munch painting “The Scream.” Work has been a blessing but can’t fill all the hours of the day. When I feel overwhelmed by the silence and “black hole” that have pervaded my life, I find myself singing “Help of the helpless, O abide with me,” which was performed at my husband’s funeral. It gives me a measure of comfort and encouragement to move ahead.
Abide with me: fast falls the eventide; The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide: When other helpers fail and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O abide with me.
I need thy presence every passing hour; What but thy grace can foil the tempter’s power? Who, like thyself, my guide and stay can be? Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.
I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless; Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness. Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory? I triumph still, if thou abide with me.
Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes; Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies; Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee; In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.
Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day; Earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away; Change and decay in all around I see; O thou who changest not, abide with me.