Poem of the week: Abide with me: Henry Francis Lyte

In tribute to the phenomenal work of Danny Boyle at the opening ceremony of the 2012 Olympic Games, this weeks 'Poem of the Week' is by Scottish Anglican, Henry Francis Lyte.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abide_with_Me 

'Abide with me' was a Hymn written by Lyte that is sung before the FA Cup Final every year and at the opening ceremony of the 2012 Olympic Games was sung so beautifully by Emeli Sande in memory of those that could not be there. It was a tribute to the dead of both World Wars and the victims of the terrorist bombings of 7/7 in London. Here I also pay tribute to others represented at those games: The Women's Suffrage Movement; the Jarrow Marchers our brothers and sisters of the Windrush Generation; the working class victims of the Industrial Revolution; the dead and maimed of all conflicts, both soldier and civilian (of what every race, creed, colour or national and political affiliation) and to Britain's Crowning Glory, it's National Health Service.

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Abide With Me Hymn

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.

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.

Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word;

But as Thou dwell’st with Thy disciples, Lord,

Familiar, condescending, patient, free.

Come not to sojourn, but abide with me.

Come not in terrors, as the King of kings,

But kind and good, with healing in Thy wings,

Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea—

Come, Friend of sinners, and thus bide with me.

Thou on my head in early youth didst smile;

And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile,

Thou hast not left me, oft as I left Thee,

On to the close, O Lord, 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.