Nay, I will not let thee go,
Though the midnight glideth slow,—
Though the darkness deep and long
Dim the sight and hush the song,
On thy tender, faithful breast,
Find I still my perfect rest—
Soothing sweet for keenest woe—
And I will not let thee go!

Nay, I will not let thee go,
Though the morn's enkindling glow
Flame along the mountain-height.
Flooding all the hills with light;
What can morning bring to me,
Tender Shepherd, wanting thee?
What its songs but sobs of woe?
Nay, I will not let thee go!

Nay, I will not let thee go,
Though the day no shadows know;
Though, the sky's serene to dim,
Lower no storm-cloud dark and grim;
Whom have I in Heaven but thee?—
What beside hath earth for me?—
Thou, the only trust I know,—
Nay, I will not let thee go!

Let thee go?—my Saviour, nay
Thou my night's unfailing day,
Thou my dawning's tenderest gleam,
Thou my noonday's richest beam,—
Night is day if thou art near,
Day without thee, joyless, drear,—
Wanting thee, all bliss were woe,—
Nay, I will not let thee go!