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The Worlds of Gilbert and Sullivan

The Revd. Henry Fromer Lyte wrote the words of this beautiful hymn after witnessing the death of a close friend. It was found after Henry's death in 1847 and published in 1850. Later William Henry Monk set it to his tune Eventide and published it in 1861.

In April 1927 Cardiff City's 1-0 victory over Arsenal took football's oldest trophy out of England for the first time. Another first was that King George V was one of the 100,000 crowd who sang Abide With Me at the same Wembley final. Well into the television age Abide With Me was adopted as the finale of the Wembley Stadium Cup Final sing-along, conducted by 'the man in the white suit', and seen and heard by millions all round the world. This long standing tradition was eventually overtaken by the fans themselves who insisted on their own supporters' chants. 

A couple of further points you might like to know: The hymn was very much parodied by First World War soldiers. The most common version in the Flanders' trenches ran something like: 'We've had no beer, We've had no beer today . . . And secondly, the hymn must have given immense comfort to Edith Cavell, a British nurse imprisoned by the Germans in 1915 for helping wounded soldiers to escape. She sang this in her cell, with a British chaplain, on the night before she was shot . . .

Do feel free to join in now, as an old soldier, (or a football supporter) or as a supporter of good hymns . . .! 

Abide With Me

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

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, O 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!

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