Poems (Edwards)/The Dying Christian
For works with similar titles, see The Dying Christian.
THE DYING CHRISTIAN.
He lay in silent dreamings. His dark hair
Upon his brow was parted, and fell back
In rich and heavy masses; and his cheek,
Pale as a gathered snow wreath, wan and cold,
Upon his thin hand rested.
His dark eyes,
Beaming with soul-lit radiance, were upturned
To the pure world above him and his frame
Quivered with heaven-born joy, as thus he breathed
His last heart-hymn on earth.
Upon his brow was parted, and fell back
In rich and heavy masses; and his cheek,
Pale as a gathered snow wreath, wan and cold,
Upon his thin hand rested.
His dark eyes,
Beaming with soul-lit radiance, were upturned
To the pure world above him and his frame
Quivered with heaven-born joy, as thus he breathed
His last heart-hymn on earth.
O! I sigh for a world that is brighter than this,
Where the heart from its cares shall be free;
Where storm clouds no longer shall darken my sky,
And no billow shall roll on life's sea;
I sigh for a home where affliction no more
Around me its shadow will cast,
And I long to escape from this valley of woe,
Where joy shall be mine at the last.
Where the heart from its cares shall be free;
Where storm clouds no longer shall darken my sky,
And no billow shall roll on life's sea;
I sigh for a home where affliction no more
Around me its shadow will cast,
And I long to escape from this valley of woe,
Where joy shall be mine at the last.
I know of a world where temptation comes not,
Where the heart is pure as a flower,
Where holiness makes up a Heaven of bliss,
And love gilds each beautiful hour;
I know of a home where my soul shall forget
The pains it has suffered in this,
Where sorrow and sickness and death are no more,
And each moment is filled up with bliss.
Where the heart is pure as a flower,
Where holiness makes up a Heaven of bliss,
And love gilds each beautiful hour;
I know of a home where my soul shall forget
The pains it has suffered in this,
Where sorrow and sickness and death are no more,
And each moment is filled up with bliss.
Oh! had I the wings of the white-bosomed dove,
That soars through the regions of air,
How soon would I cast off this mantle of clay,
And fly to those bright mansions there;
Too dark is this desolate world for my heart,
Too full of life's burdensome things,
Too often the cumbersome cares of this earth,
Have weighed down my spirit's bright wings.
That soars through the regions of air,
How soon would I cast off this mantle of clay,
And fly to those bright mansions there;
Too dark is this desolate world for my heart,
Too full of life's burdensome things,
Too often the cumbersome cares of this earth,
Have weighed down my spirit's bright wings.
I am weary, quite weary of life and its woes,
I am weary of sin and its gloom,
I am weary of friendship that dies in an hour,
And I fain, Oh! I fain would go home;
I am weary of staying away from my God,
Away from yon Heaven above,
Oh! when shall I enter the regions of bliss,
And drink at the fountain of love.
I am weary of sin and its gloom,
I am weary of friendship that dies in an hour,
And I fain, Oh! I fain would go home;
I am weary of staying away from my God,
Away from yon Heaven above,
Oh! when shall I enter the regions of bliss,
And drink at the fountain of love.
Bright Angels! ye call me, ye beckon me up,
To your glorious home in the skies,
Ye bend from the beautiful portals of bliss,
Ye watch me with love-beaming eyes,
Ye call me, ye call me, ye wait for me now,
Ye are leading me down to the tomb,
Ye are bearing me up to the beautiful land,
Receive me, my Saviour, I come."
To your glorious home in the skies,
Ye bend from the beautiful portals of bliss,
Ye watch me with love-beaming eyes,
Ye call me, ye call me, ye wait for me now,
Ye are leading me down to the tomb,
Ye are bearing me up to the beautiful land,
Receive me, my Saviour, I come."