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The Verge Of Life

( Originally Published Early 1900's )



PHILIP DODDRIDGE, D.D.

WHILE on the verge of life I stand,
And view the scenes on either hand,
My spirit struggles with its clay,
And longs to wing its flight away.

Where Jesus dwells my soul would be,
It 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 blessed interview how sweet,
To fall transported at his feet;
Raised in his arms, to view his face,
Through the full beamings of his grace.

To see heaven's shining courtiers round,
Each with immortal gories crowned ;
And, while his form in each I trace,
Beoved and oving all to embrace.

As with a seraph's voice to sing :
To fly as on a cherub"s wing ;
Performing, with unwearied hands,
A present Saviour'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 heaven begun below.



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