When my last hour is close at hand,

And I must hence betake me,

Do Thou, Lord Jesus, by me stand,

Nor let Thine aid forsake me;

To Thy blest hands I now commend

My soul, at this my earthly end,

And Thou wilt safely keep it.

My sins, dear Lord, disturb me sore,

My conscience cannot slumber,

But I will cleave to Thee the more,

Though they the sands outnumber;

I will remember Thou didst die,

Will think on Thy most bitter cry,

Thy sufferings shall uphold me.

That I was graft into the Vine,

Hence will I comfort borrow;

For Thou wilt surely keep me Thine

Through fear, and pain, and sorrow;

Yea, though I die, I die to Thee,

And Thou through death didst win for me

The right to life eternal.

Since Thou didst leave the grave again,

It cannot be my dwelling;

Thou art in heaven--this soothes my pain,

All fear of death dispelling,

For Thou wilt have me where Thou art,

And so with joy I can depart

To be with Thee for ever.

To Thee I now stretch out mine arms,

And gladly hence betake me;

I sleep at peace from all alarms,

No human voice can wake me.

But Christ is with me through the strife,

And He will bear me into life,

And open heaven before me.