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THE FLIGHT OF THE DOVE.
Reigneth the Holy One:
Mother, when I am gone
He'll comfort thee.
Mother, when I am gone
He'll comfort thee.
They are singing, mother, they are singing:
Soft! Dost thou hear?
Hark! 'tis the echo ringing,
Sweetly and clear.
Hark! hark! they seem to say,
"Come, happy child, away."
Oh, canst thou bid me stay?—
Jesus is near!
Soft! Dost thou hear?
Hark! 'tis the echo ringing,
Sweetly and clear.
Hark! hark! they seem to say,
"Come, happy child, away."
Oh, canst thou bid me stay?—
Jesus is near!
He hath bought me, mother, He hath bought me.
What can compare
To the robe He hath wrought me,
The robe I shall wear?
Fair though the angels be,
Yet my soul pants to see
Jesus, who died for me:
Lo, He is there!
What can compare
To the robe He hath wrought me,
The robe I shall wear?
Fair though the angels be,
Yet my soul pants to see
Jesus, who died for me:
Lo, He is there!
