In the Hour of My Distress

In the hour of my dis­tress

When temp­ta­tions me op­press

And when I my sins con­fess

Sweet Spir­it

com­fort me.

When I lie with­in my bed

Sick in heart

and sick in head

And with doubts dis­com­fort­ed

Sweet Spir­it

com­fort me.

When the house doth sigh and weep

And the world is drowned in sleep

Yet mine eyes the watch do keep

Sweet Spir­it

com­fort me.

When the art­less doc­tor sees

No one hope but of his fees

And his skill runs on the lees

Sweet Spir­it

com­fort me.

When his po­tion and his pill

Is of none or lit­tle skill

Meet for no­thing but to kill

Sweet Spir­it

com­fort me.

When the pass­ing-bell doth toll

And the fur­ies

in a shoal

Come to fright my part­ing soul

Sweet Spir­it

com­fort me.

When the ta­pers now burn blue

And the com­fort­ers are few

And that num­ber more than true

Sweet Spir­it

com­fort me.

When the priest his last hath prayed

And I nod to what is said

’Cause my speech is now de­cayed

Sweet Spir­it

com­fort me.

When

God knows

I’m tossed about

Either with des­pair or doubt

Yet

be­fore the glass be out

Sweet Spir­it

com­fort me.

When the tempt­er me pur­su­eth

With the sins of all my youth

And half damns me with un­truth

Sweet Spir­it

com­fort me.

When the flames and hell­ish cries

Fright my ears and fright my eyes

And all ter­rors me sur­prise

Sweet Spir­it

com­fort me.

When the judg­ment is re­vealed

And that op­ened which was sealed

When to Thee I have ap­pealed

Sweet Spir­it

com­fort me.