By:
Edited by Heyman Wreford
The Scottish Evangelist
When round my open grave you stand,
Oh, lay me down with singing!
Of rest within the promised land
Loud let your voice be ringing.
Sing of the rest for weary found
O’er Jordan’s rushing river,
Of garments bright and robes made white
In glory there forever.
On Balaclava’s gloomy shore,
By the dying soldier’s side,
I’ve told the story o’er and o’er
Of Christ the crucified.
In Scottish towns, o’er hill and moor,
The gospel has been preached;
And by the Holy Spirit’s power
The lost ones have been reached.
And now the fight is nearly fought,
The race is almost won;
‘Twas Jesus who redemption bought,
‘Twas He the victory won.
Light all the lamps, I want no gloom,
Your voices raise again;
Sing to me, friends, I’m going home
To see the Lamb once slain.
This room is filled with angel throng,
His chariot wheels are near;
Could I but raise my voice in song,
Such music you would hear!
So when you bear me to the tomb,
Praise God with joyous strain:
For soon within our glorious home,
We all shall meet again.
M. R.