(Copied from the letter of a soldier, written from India to his family at Kegworth, shortly before his death.
We're marching home to heaven above,
To sing our Captain's dying love;
Soldiers have reached that blessed shore,
"Parades" and "Battles" all are o'er,
And still there's room for thousands more.
Will you come?
We're going to "Quarters" full of light,
Far from the turmoil of the fight;
The "Crown of Life" we then shall wear,
The conqueror's "Palm" we then shall share,
And God's own "Decorations" bear.
Will you come?
We're going to join the "Standard furled,"
Which Grace has carried through the world;
A soldier saved has borne it through,
He ever found the Saviour true,
And never once his choice did rue.
Will you come?
We're going to see the "Prince of Peace,"
The King who maketh wars to cease;
The bursting shell no more shall harm,
Nor bugle sound the loud alarm;
“Turn out, and for the battle arm I"
Will you come?
“The line of march" to heaven is plain,
Through Jesu's blood, for He was slain;
The Saviour's Orders "are for thee,"
Take up thy cross, and follow me,"
And thou shalt sure a victor be.
Won't you come?