In Te, Domine, spero.

’Tis said that as the sinner dies Around him hover shadowy forms, Reflecting in his glassy eyes Some cloudy visions in Death’s storms. When on the hard-fought battle plain Gushes forth hot the bright red blood From out the bullet wound’s blue stain, With throbs that show the arterial flood; The shadowy forms may still be near Just where his body stains the sod, As sure of death but void of fear The man commends his soul to God. The half-forgotten youthful days, His father’s voice, his mother’s tears, Come back to him as whilst he prays Dark Azraël’s rustling wings he hears. Lost and forgotten, far from home (The stretcher-bearers pass him by) He dies alone: no, not alone, The shadowy forms are watching nigh. So ends the sinner. As he dies The shadowy forms (his own good deeds) Are wafted onward to the skies To plead for him in heavenly meads.