Scripture Verse

Do not pass by Your servant. Genesis 18:3


Fanny Crosby

Words: Fan­ny Cros­by, 1868. First ap­peared in Songs of De­vo­tion, by How­ard Doane (New York: 1870).

Music: W. How­ard Doane, 1870 (🔊 pdf nwc).

W. Howard Doane


Hers was an age of ev­an­gel­is­tic sing­ing mis­sions, and Fan­ny Cros­by’s hymns were al­ways in re­quest. So po­pu­lar was the lit­tle po­et­ess that she was in­vited to speak at ma­ny plac­es where these mis­sions were held.

On one oc­ca­sion, it was at a state pri­son. Much was hoped for from this par­ti­cu­lar meet­ing. As Fan­ny was speak­ing—and her ve­ry blind­ness gave her pow­er—first one pri­son­er and then an­oth­er would in­ter­rupt by call­ing on the good Lord not to pass me by.

Fanny told that she was so touched by the pleas of these men that she could not get the thought of them out of her mind; in­deed she said, I wrote the lines with the men’s plead­ing wail still in my ears.

Blanchard, pp. 76–77

In a West­ern State lived an old man who was in the ha­bit of go­ing fish­ing on Sun­day af­ter­noons. Near the pond was a school­house where Sun­day School was held. Fre­quent­ly they sang, Pass Me not, O Gen­tle Sav­iour, dur­ing the af­ter­noon ser­vice, and for some rea­son the old man was un­a­ble to for­get the me­lo­dy.

One day he threw down his fish­ing rod and went up to the school­house. He was in­vit­ed to the Sab­bath School, but he said, No, I can­not come to­day, for I am not dressed well enough. Then he pro­mised he would come if the child­ren would sing Pass Me Not, O Gen­tle Sav­iour. Two years af­ter, in the pre­sence of Mr. Doane, the old man, who was con­vert­ed, re­lat­ed this sto­ry, and said, God bless Will­iam H. Doane and Fan­ny Cros­by.

Jackson, p. 13


Pass me not, O gen­tle Sav­ior,
Hear my hum­ble cry;
While on oth­ers Thou art call­ing,
Do not pass me by.


Savior, Sav­ior,
Hear my hum­ble cry;
While on oth­ers Thou art call­ing,
Do not pass me by.

Let me at Thy throne of mer­cy
Find a sweet re­lief,
Kneeling there in deep con­tri­tion;
Help my un­be­lief.


Trusting only in Thy mer­it,
Would I seek Thy face;
Heal my wound­ed, brok­en spi­rit,
Save me by Thy grace.


Thou the Spring of all my com­fort,
More than life to me,
Whom have I on earth be­side Thee?
Whom in Heav’n but Thee?