er clergyman, brought about a profound change in the spiritual life
of Lyte. Called to the bedside of his friend to give him consolation, he
discovered to his sorrow that both he and the dying man were blind guides
who were still groping for light. Through a prayerful search of the
Scriptures, however, they both came to a firm faith in Christ. Lyte wrote
of his friend:

"He died happy under the belief that though he had deeply erred, there
was _One_ whose death and sufferings would atone for his delinquencies,
and that he was forgiven and accepted for His sake."

Concerning the change that came into his own life, he added: "I was
greatly affected by the whole matter, and brought to look at life and its
issue with a different eye than before; and I began to study my Bible and
preach in another manner than I had previously done."

For nearly twenty-five years after this incident Lyte labored among
humble fisherfolk and sailors of the parish at Lower Brixham, and his
deep spiritual zeal and fervor led him to overtax his physical powers.
From time to time he was obliged to spend the winters in more friendly
climes.

In the autumn of 1847 he wrote to a friend that the swallows were flying
southward, and he observed, "They are inviting me to accompany them; and
yet alas; while I am talking of flying, I am just able to crawl."

The Sunday for his farewell service came. His family and friends
admonished him not to preach a sermon, but the conscientious minister
insisted. "It is better," he said, "to _wear_ out than to _rust_ out."

He did preach, and the hearts of his hearers were full that day, for they
seemed to realize that it would probably be the last time they would hear
him. The faithful pastor, too, seemed to have a premonition that it would
be his last sermon. The service closed with the Lord's Supper,
administered by Lyte to his sorrowing flock.

"Though necessarily much exhausted by the exertion and excitement of this
effort," his daughter afterward wrote, "yet his friends had no reason to
believe that it had been hurtful to him."

This was September 4, 1847. That afternoon he walked out along the shore
to watch the sun as it was setting in a glory of crimson and gold. It was
a peaceful, beautiful Sabbath evening. Returning to his home, he shut
himself up in his study for the brief space of an hour, and when he came
out, he handed a near relative the manuscript containing the famous hymn,
"Abide with me." He