Beside the dying fire,
darkness settles on the roofs and walls.
Hide me, Oh my Savior, hide.
'Till the storm of life is past.
Rock my soul in the bosom of Abraham,
a shelter in the time of storm.
Let me to thy bosom fly
and slip the surly bonds of earth.
I'll take my heavenly flight,
on my way to those mansions fair.
Look, how the floor of heaven
is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold.
I'll join the happy angel band,
there to sing God's praise and his glory share.
Shout, "Jubilate Deo!"
I'll put out my hand