Jane Wilde

27 December 1821 – 3 February 1896

The Dying Christian

By the streams of living water,
Rest, my daughter.
Soul, I would not stay thy flight;

Jesus waiteth at the portal
See, poor mortal,
Open stand the doors of light.
Let me go, life’s tempest braven,
To the haven;
There, beside the Saviour’s throne,
Where the choir of seraph voices
Now rejoices
In eternal jubal‐tone.
By thy earthly Virgin Mother
Saviour, Brother,
Thou hast known the gloom of death;
Through its shadows now I wander,
Angels yonder,
Keep me even as Jesus saith!
Now I see the distant glory
Life’s poor story
Ends, as it began, in pain.
Earthly form, doth it grieve me
Thus to leave thee?
No, for Christians die to reign.
What availeth life’s brief sorrow?
Ere the morrow
Christ will change to smiles my sighs;
Dreaming, pass we through death’s portal
Then, immortal,
Waken up in Paradise.
Soul‐Redeemer, by Thy power,
In this hour,
Keep faith’s light from burning dim;
I am strong when Thou art near me
Saviour, hear me!
Guard me with Thy Cherubim.
Thou the martyr’s crown hath borne,
Shame and scorn,
All to save my soul from sin;

Thou the hosts of death assailest,
Sinner frailest
Through Thee rises conquering.
Prince of Life! my soul’s endeavour,
Now and ever,
Be to sing Thy glorious love;
Death is conquered! Thou hast given
Peace from heaven
Soon I’ll chant Thy praise above!
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