Henry Francis Lyte was tired—so tired! For some time past he had realized that, though only fifty-four years old, the twenty strenuous years of his ministry to a lowly congregation in Devonshire, England, had taken sad toll on his health.
How he loved his little flock! In their many vicissitudes over the years he had partaken as a father with his children. In sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow, he had tried to be ever present, ever faithful, soothing, comforting, exhorting as seemed needful for them.
And now, in 1847, Henry Francis Lyte was tired, and he was sick and growing old. Maybe, he thought, if he could spend the coming winter in the balmy sunshine of southern Italy, the Lord might use the rest and the warmth to invigorate again the weary body. Yes, he would go before the cold and dampness of winter set in.
On a Sunday in September, weakened by an early cold and against the advice of his friends, the aging minister preached a farewell sermon to his beloved people. In the evening of that same day, as he sat in meditation, he penned the words to a hymn that has comforted and cheered many others down through the years. Who would not say but that they were the heart's cry of Henry Francis Lyte? A few weeks later he went to abide forever with the Lord he loved.
"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, oh, abide with me.”
Dr. Theodore L. Cuyler, another devoted pastor, has related an instance he was permitted to witness of the power of this hymn. He has remarked, "During my pastorate I often got better sermons from my people than I ever gave them.
"A most touching and sublime scene I once witnessed in the death chamber of a woman of the nobility, who was also a dear child of God. She had suffered excruciatingly for many months from an incurable malady; but those who loved and sought to serve her and to ease in some small degree the wracking pain, were amazed and humbled by her submission and patience throughout the trying ordeal.
"Finally it was apparent that the end was near, and soon the bright spirit would be released from the tortured body. As she grew weaker, she seemed to catch a foregleam of the glory that awaited her. In the solemn quietude of that room her faint whisper fell clearly on the ears of loved ones. With trembling tones she began to recite Henry Lyte's matchless hymn. One line after another was feebly repeated until, with a rapturous sweetness, she exclaimed:
" '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.'
"As I came away from that room which had been as the vestibule of heaven, I understood how the 'light of eventide' in a Christian life could be only a flashing forth of the overwhelming glory that plays forever around the throne of God.”