The Dying Boy

Lyrics

I’m dying, mother, dying now,
Please raise my aching head,
And fan my heated, burning brow,
Your boy will soon be dead.
Turn o’er my pillow once again,
And kiss my fevered cheek,
I’ll soon be freed from all the pain,
For now I am so weak.

A band of angels beckons me,
I can no longer stay;
Hark! how they sing, ‘We welcome thee;
Dear brother, haste away.’
The hour has come, my end is near,
My soul is mounting high’r;
What glorious strains salute my ear,
From heav’n’s angelic choir?