While on the Verge of Life I Stand

While on the verge of life I stand

And view the scene on ei­ther hand

My spir­it strug­gles with my clay

And longs to wing its flight away.

Where Je­sus dwells my soul would be

And faints my much loved Lord to see:

Earth

twine no more about my heart

For ’tis far bet­ter to de­part.

Come

ye an­gel­ic en­voys

come

And lead the will­ing pil­grim home!

Ye know the way to Je­sus’ throne—

Source of my joys and of your own.

That bliss­ful int­er­view

how sweet

To fall trans­port­ed at His feet:

Raised in His arms to view His face

Thro’ the full beam­ings of His grace.

To see Heav’n’s shin­ing cour­ti­ers round

Each with im­mor­tal glo­ries crowned!

And

while His form in each I trace

Beloved

and lov­ing all t’em­brace!

As with a ser­aph’s voice to sing!

To fly as on a cher­ub’s wing!

Performing with un­wear­ied hands

A pre­sent Sav­ior’s high com­mands!

Yet with these pros­pects full in sight

I’ll wait Thy sig­nal for my flight;

For

while Thy serv­ice I pur­sue

I find my Heav’n be­gun be­low.