  AIR: 'THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER.' Oh! how glorious the vision, when the Sun sinks to rest, Mid the bright fields Elysian, on Evening's soft breast; While brilliant and glowing with purple and gold, The clouds round him flowing, their splendors unfold! How calmly, serenely, his beams die away, As he lingers so sweetly on the confines of day! Then leaving behind him the shadows of night, He claims for his treasure a day ever bright. 'Tis thus with the pilgrim, when life sinks apace; Bright angels attend him at the end of the race: And hov'ring around him in glorious array, They rejoice in his future—an infinite day! Oh! how joyful he lingers, while Death doth release, With his cold icy fingers his soul, filled with peace! Then leaving earth's regions of sorrow and pain, He joins the blest legions, with Jesus to reign. T. W. S. |
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