Be near me when my light is low, When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick And tingle; and the heart is sick, And all the wheels of Being slow.
Be near me when the sensuous frame Is rack'd 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, In Memoriam A. H. H., Canto L