“I GO TO PREPARE A PLACE FOR YOU.”

My Savior! is my place prepared, And for my welcome hast thou cared, When death shall call for me? When I shall rest beneath the sod, Shall angels bear my soul to God? O, Savior! can it be? Exceeding grace! I raise my eyes, All wet with tear-drops, to the skies, And bless thee for thy love; I would not always dwell below, Where death has torn my heartstrings so; ’Twill ne’er be thus above. And yet, ’tis well—’tis well for me, And well for those who’ve gone to thee, That thou didst call them home; I love those dear ones far too well, To wish that they again should dwell Where I in sadness roam. I would not ask them now to change Their peaceful home; they’d think it strange, And ’twould be strange indeed If I, who am a pris’ner here, And daily shed the silent tear, Should mourn when they are freed. I feel not as an exile feels, When lonely sadness o’er him steals, And hope forsakes his breast; I am not banish’d from my home; I have not many days to roam Ere I shall be—at rest. O, blessed Savior! now I see Great preparations made for me, In mansions bright and fair; For thou, with sweet attractive art, To make Heaven dearer to my heart, Hast placed my jewels there!