When my last hour is close at hand,
My last sad jour­ney taken,
Do Thou, Lord Je­sus! by me stand,
Let me not be for­sak­en.
O Lord, my spir­it I re­sign
Into Thy lov­ing hands di­vine;
’Tis safe with­in Thy keep­ing.

Countless as sands up­on the shore,
My sins may then ap­pall me;
Yet, though my con­science vex me sore,
Despair shall not en­thrall me:
For as I draw my lat­est breath,
I’ll think, Lord Christ, up­on Thy death,
And there find con­so­la­tion.

I shall not in the grave re­main,
Since Thou death’s bonds hast se­vered;
But hope with Thee to rise again,
From fear of death de­liv­ered,
For where Thou art, there I shall be.
That I may ev­er live with Thee:
This is my joy in dy­ing.

And so to Je­sus Christ I’ll go,
My long­ing arms ex­tend­ing;
So fall asleep in slum­ber deep,
Slumber that knows no end­ing,
Till Je­sus Christ, God’s on­ly Son,
Opens the gates of bliss, leads on
To Heav’n, to life eter­nal.