E Tenebris

COME down, O Christ, and help me! reach thy hand

For I am drowning in a stormier sea

Than Simon on thy lake of Galilee:

The wine of life is spilt upon the sand

My heart is as some famine-murdered land

Whence all good things have perished utterly

And well I know my soul in Hell must lie

If I this night before God's throne should stand.