At the River.
I am standing alone by a mystic tide,
And the dark swift waters flow past my feet,
While’st floating across from the other side
Come strains of music, heavenly sweet,
And I see the beautiful white-robed throng
Beckoning to me across the wave,
And I long to join in the rapturous song,
But the cold, dark waters I dare not brave.
I press my feet to the River of Death,
But backward shrink with quivering start
For the icy waters have stopped my breath
And frozen the blood in my frightened heart,
Then softly and sweetly the angel song
Comes floating across to my listening ear:
“Though the river is dark and swift and strong,
There is one who will help you, so be of good cheer.”
And then in the midst of the beautiful throng
A wondrous vision bursts on my sight:
I seem to see on that shining strand
A form of celestial glory and light,
And softly there steals to my troubled soul
Those loving words that calm all fear:
“Fear not, my child, though the river be cold
I will bear thee up, so be of good cheer.”
With a world of love in his patient eyes
He stretches the wounded hands to aid,
And once more speaks in such sad surprise:
“Oh doubting one, art thou still afraid?
My feet once pressed the cold dark wave,
Unaided I stepped o’er the river’s brink,
And wil’t thou not trust me, its dangers brave?
I will bear thee up and thou can’st not sink.”
Then all fear goes out from my doubting soul
And a wondrous peace steals in instead,
As once more I press to the river cold
And the icy waters no longer dread,
And as boldly I plunge in the chilling tide
The song of the Angels rings sweet and clear—
“Though the river is dark and cold and wide
Thy Saviour is with thee, so be of good cheer.”