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.