Now droops his weary head

Exhausted on his bed.

His dying prayer has ceased;

Convulsive heaves his breast;

We deem him sunk to rest,

Breathing his last and best;

When suddenly his eyes

He opens on the skies,

And startling us with surprise,

He waves his hand and cries:

“I see, I see the place!

I see my Saviour’s face!

Look, children, look! your eyes

Raise, and look toward the skies!

Bright beams of Glory

Come hovering o’er me!

See! see! they’re opening wide,

The flaming gates of Paradise!

Bright angels downward glide,

And standing near my side,

They smile and bid me come,

To my eternal home.”