 | Poems of home and country |  |
THE DYING CHRISTIAN.
By the couch of the saint there are loved ones to weep;
There are angels to watch o'er the last weary sleep;
There's a Saviour to soothe every feeling of grief,
And a balm for the spirit that sighs for relief.
There are angels to watch o'er the last weary sleep;
There's a Saviour to soothe every feeling of grief,
And a balm for the spirit that sighs for relief.
When the soul thro' the Jordan of death deeply wades,
And the light of creation burns dimly and fades;
There 's a voice that can speak thro' the gathering shade,—
Saint, thy Saviour is near thee, O, be not afraid.
And the light of creation burns dimly and fades;
There 's a voice that can speak thro' the gathering shade,—
Saint, thy Saviour is near thee, O, be not afraid.
As the sun hastens down to his place in the west,
And the calmness of evening thrills sweet through the breast;
So serene is the hour, when the soul sinks to rest,
And with gladness ascends to the home of the blest.
And the calmness of evening thrills sweet through the breast;
So serene is the hour, when the soul sinks to rest,
And with gladness ascends to the home of the blest.
| Poems of home and country | |