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122 The Dying Boy


I'm dying, mother, dying now
Please raise my aching head,
And fan my heated burning brow,
Your boy will soon be dead.
Turn o'er my pillow once again,
And kiss my fevered cheek,
I'll soon be freed from all the pain,
For now I am so weak.

Now light the lamps, my mother dear,
The sun has passed away;
I soon must go, but do not fear,
I'll live in endless day.
A band of angels beckon me,
I can no longer stay,
Hark! how they sing,"We welcome thee,
Dear brother, haste away."

Their flowing robes in brightness shine,
A crown is on each head;
Say, mother, will not such be mine
When I am with the dead?
I'm sinking fast, my mother, dear,
I can no longer dwell;
Yet I'll be with you do not fear,
But now, oh now, farewell.

Yet do not weep, sweet mother, now.
'Twould break this body's spell:
Those burning tears fall on my brow,
Farewell, Oh fare thee well!
The hour has come, my end is near,
My soul is mounting high'r;
What glor'ous strains salute my ear
From heav'ns angelic choir.


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