1 Lord, when we see a saint of thine
Lie gasping out his breath,
With longing eyes, and looks divine,
Smiling and pleas'd in death;
2 How we could e'en contend to lay
Our limbs upon that bed!
We ask thine envoy to convey
Our spirits in his stead.
3 Out souls are rising on the wing,
To venture in his place;
For when grim death has lost his sting,
He has an angel's face.
4 Jesus, then purge my crimes away,
'Till guilt creates my fears;
'Tis guilt gives death his fierce array,
And all the arms he bears.
5 Oh! if my threatning sins were gone,
And death had lost his sting,
I could invite the angels on,
And chide his lazy wing.
6 Away these interpoling days,
And let the loves meet;
The angle has a cold embrace,
But kind, and soft, and sweet.
7 I'd leap at once my seventy years,
I'd rush into his arms,
And lose my breath, and all my cares,
Amid those heavenly charms,
8 Joyful I'd lay this body down,
And leave this lifeless clay,
Without a sigh, without a groan,
And stretch and soar away.
Source: A Selection of Hymns: from the best authors, intended to be an appendix to Dr. Watt's psalms and hymns. (1st Am. ed.) #DLIII
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