Lines, Written in a Sick Room, July 20th, 1855.

The voice of "many waters" Is murmuring on my ear, And mingling in the mystic strains A mother's voice I hear. Two white rob'd cherub sisters Stand harping by her side; A brother in the concert joins, Who erst in Jesus died. And other sainted spirits, Who've pass'd from earth away,-- Stand wooing me to join their bands In realms of endless day. The flow'rs are blooming brightly, The tree of life is seen; And so inviting stand the fields, "Array'd in living green." The Saviour sheds his presence, In radiance round the place: And joy and adoration Beams bright on ev'ry face. Loud swells the pealing anthem, Through the high dome of heav'n, "Worthy the Lamb, who once was slain," And hath our sins forgiv'n. As thus I gaze enraptur'd, And drink heav'n's spirit in Earth's costliest tow'rs and palaces Look faded, worn and dim; And death's cold stream that murmurs So hoarsely on my ear; If Jesus were my pilot I'd cross without a fear. But oh! the tide is turning, Health flows through ev'ry vein: And I a little longer On time's dark shore remain. But thou, celestial city! I'd keep thee still in view, And gladly would the summons heed That wafts my soul to you.