Be near me when my light is low
When the blood creeps and the nerves prick
And tongle, and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels of beeing slow

Be near me when the sensous frame
Is racked with pangs that conquer trust,
And time a maniac, scattering dust,
And life, a fury, slinging flame

Be near me when my faith is dry,
And men the flies of latter spring,
That lay their eggs, and sting and sing,
And weave their petty cells and die

Be near me when I fade away,
To point the term of human strife
And on the low dark verge of life
The twilight of eternal day

[Alfred Lord Tennyson]