THE DYING BOY TO HIS MOTHER.
83
They'll fan me with their wings of faith—
With angel care they'll show
The holy paths of peace and truth,
And teach me how to go.
With angel care they'll show
The holy paths of peace and truth,
And teach me how to go.
They say that crystal rivulets
Shall bathe my brow and feet;
That throngs of seraph ones shall bend
A trembling child to greet;
That on the borders of those streams
Rich gems in plenty lie;
That all around a radiance beams,—
O, for this bliss I sigh.
Shall bathe my brow and feet;
That throngs of seraph ones shall bend
A trembling child to greet;
That on the borders of those streams
Rich gems in plenty lie;
That all around a radiance beams,—
O, for this bliss I sigh.
I see bright birds of rainbow hue,
Trees with ambrosial fruit;
And I shall join heaven's minstrels, too,
Yes, I, with song and lute;
Then, mother dearest, smile again,
Look up and kiss the rod;
I go to rest, all free from pain,
In Paradise, with God.
Trees with ambrosial fruit;
And I shall join heaven's minstrels, too,
Yes, I, with song and lute;
Then, mother dearest, smile again,
Look up and kiss the rod;
I go to rest, all free from pain,
In Paradise, with God.
