The Dying Californian
Songs published, Wholesale and Retail, by EDWARD M’CONVILL, No. 692 West Baltimore street.
The Dying Calipornian.
Lie up nearer, brother, nearer, for my limbs are growing cold,
And thy presence seemeth dearer when thy arms around me fold;
I am dying, brother, dying, soon you will miss me in your berth,
And my form will soon be lying beneath the ocean’s briny surf.
Hearken to me, brother, hearken, I have something I would say
Ere this veil my vision darken and I go from hence away;
I am going, surely going, but my hopes in God are strong,
I am willing, brother, knowing that he doeth nothing wrong.
Tell my father, when you greet him, that in death I prayed for him—
Prayed that I might one day meet him, in a world that’s free from sin;
Tell my mother—God assist her, now that she is growing old—
That her son would glad have kissed her, when his lips grew pale and cold.
Hearken to me—catch each whisper, ’tis my wife I’d speak of now,
Tell oh, tell her how I missed her, when the fever burned my brow;
Hearken to me, closely listen don’t forget a single word.
That in death my eyes did glisten with the tears her memory stirred.
Tell her to kiss my children, like the kiss I last impressed,
Hold them as last I held them, folded closely to my breast;
Give them early to their Maker, putting all their trust in God,
And he never will forsake her—He has said so in his word.
O. my children, heaven bless them! they were all my life to me,
Would I could once more caress them, ere I sink beneath the sea;
’Twas for them I crussed the ocean—what my hopes were I’ll not tell,
But they have gained an orphan’s portion—yet He doeth all things well.
Tell my sisters I remember every kindly parting word,
And my heart has been kept tender by the thoughts their mem’ry stirr’d;
Tell them I never reached the heaven where I sought the precious dust,
But I’ve gained a port called heaven, where the gold doth never rust.
Urge them to secure an entrance, for they will find their brother there,
Faith in Jesus and repentance will secure for them a share;
Hark! I here my Saviour calling—’tis I know his voice so well,
When I’m gone, O, don’t be weeping, brother, here my last farewell,