BEHOLD, the gloomy vale Which you—my soul—must tread, Crowded with terrors, fierce and pale, And leading to the dead!
And you, my fleshly ‘clay’, Long partner of my cares, In this rough path are torn away With pain, regret and tears.
But, lo, a flood of light, With splendours all divine, Breaks through those doleful realms of night To make the valley shine.
Where death and darkness reign, My Saviour is my stay; He shall my trembling soul sustain, And guard me all the way.
Blest Saviour, lead me on; How can I yield to fear? Death’s fearsome savours all are flown When Thou, O Lord, art near.
Philip Doddridge, 1702-51