(The following was started back in June, but I never got around to posting. In fact, there are a lot of things I never got around to posting over the past few months. Is it against “blog rules” to post something that you wrote this long ago?)

This morning, Greg Hayes and I went to the Holly Springs store for breakfast. We drove separately because Greg was going on to “town” (“Table Rock-speak” for Pickens, Easley, Greenville, et al). As I turned onto Hwy. 11, I noticed a grasshopper of some variety attached to my windshield. It started moving and I started going faster. It hung on. I continued to go faster and it continued to hang on. I watched in amazement as I reached the speed limit (and a little more) . . . and it was still there. I thought to myself, “How could it do that?” It occurred to me that this little creature was created with a capacity to do just what I was witnessing. And it was doing it!

What amazing things were we created with the capacity to do, but have not done because we thought it impossible? The answer is, “More than we know.” Let’s try stretching our wings or holding on longer than we think we can.

I attended the funeral of Exie Newton (wife of Rev. Lee Newton). She was one of those quiet types that didn’t come on strong, but once you got to know her, you realized that there was much more there. As we sang Abide With Me, there was one phrase that started a train of thoughts that I will share later. The phrase was, “Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes.” I will get back to that.

I did a little research on that hymn today and discovered the “rest of the story.” The author of those words was a familiar figure to the townsfolk of Brixham, England. The town’s parson took his daily walk by the sea for more than 20 years. That was the way he thought out his sermons as he talked with God.

On a Sunday afternoon in September 1847, Rev. Henry Francis Lyte walked with a heavy heart. He was anticipating that this would be his last walk on what was a most familiar path. At the age of thirty, Mr. Lyte had taken the little church at Brixham in hopes that the salt air would bring him improved health. Now at the age of 54, as his lung ailment grew worse, doctors said that he would need to go to the warmer climate of Italy.

That Sunday morning, he administered his last sacrament and took his last walk along the sea. He wrote some farewell notes to friends and wrote a prayer which he gave to a friend. The prayer was put away in a trunk. He died in France two months later having never reached Italy. How fitting that the oft-repeated refrain, “Abide With Me,” would be in his heart and mind as he left his cherished flock, friends and home. He seemed to realize that he was not going on that journey alone, for Christ would be with him “in life and death.”

For over a cen­tu­ry, the bells of his church at All Saints in Low­er Brix­ham, De­von­shire, have rung out “Abide with Me” daily. Lyte’s prayer-poem was published as a hymn. Other hymns penned by Lyte include “Jesus, I My Cross Have Taken,” and “Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven.”

Back to my thoughts that afternoon. That phrase, “Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes,” arrested my attention. Why would you want this to be your last thought before you died? I have read accounts of the deaths of some of the great saints. While victorious in the hour of death, the awareness of our unworthiness of Christ’s suffering and death and the realization that in the end it is our only hope of a personal resurrection seems to be a prominent theme.

“O God, help me to live with my heart and mind focused on the cross so that I can die with the cross before my eyes. It’s my only hope for a resurrection morning.”

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.

Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word;
But as Thou dwell’st with Thy disciples, Lord,
Familiar, condescending, patient, free.
Come not to sojourn, but abide with me.

Come not in terrors, as the King of kings,
But kind and good, with healing in Thy wings,
Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea—
Come, Friend of sinners, and thus bide with me.

Thou on my head in early youth didst smile;
And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile,
Thou hast not left me, oft as I left Thee,
On to the close, O Lord, 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, Lord, 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.