Page 403
THE
DYING
CALIFORNIAN.
8,
7.
"We
should
be
made
heirs
according
to
the
hope
of
eternal
life."-Titus
3:7.
Ball
and
Drinkard,
1859.
Ball
and
Drinkard,
1859.
1
Lay
up
near-er
broth-er,
near
-
er
For
my
limbs
are
growing
cold;
And
thy
presence
seemeth
near
-
er,
When
thine
arms
around
me
fold.
2
I
am
dy
-
ing,
brother,
dy
-
ing,
Soon
you'll
miss
me
in
your
birth
For
my
form
will
soon
be
ly
-
ing
'Neath
the
ocean's
bri
-
ny
deep.
3
I
am
go
-
ing,
sure-ly
go
-
ing,
But
my
hope
in
God
is
strong;
1
am
will-
ing,
brother,
know-ing
That
he
doth
noth-ing
wrong.
4
Tell
my
father
when
you
greet
him,
That
in
death
I
prayed
for
him,
Prayed
that
I
might
only
meet
him
In
a
world
that's
free
from
sin.
5
Tell
my
mother--God
assist
her,
Know
that
she
is
growing
old,-
That
her
child
would
glad
have
kissed
her
When
his
lips
grew
pale
and
cold.
6
Listen,
brother,
catch
each
whisper,
'Tis
my
wife
I'll
speak
of
now;
Tell,
O
tell
her,
how
I
missed
her,
When
the
fever
burned
my
brow.
7
Tell
her
she
must
kiss
my
children,
Like
the
kiss
I
last
impressed,
Hold
them
as
when
last
I
held
them,
Folded
closely
to
my
breast.
8
Give
them
early
to
their
Maker,
Putting
all
her
trust
in
God,
And
He
never
will
forsake
her,
For
He's
said
so
in
his
word.
9
Oh!
my
children,
Heaven
bless
them:
They
were
all
my
life
to
me;
Would
I
could
once
more
caress
them,
Before
I
sink
beneath
the
sea,
10
'Twas
for
them
1
crossed
the
ocean,
What
my
hopes
were
I'd
not
tell,
But
they
gained
an
orphan's
portion-
Yet
he
doth
all
things
well.
11
Listen,
brother,
closely
listen,
Don't
forget
a
single
wor;,
That
if
death
my
eyes
did
glisten
.
With
the
tears
her
memory
stored.
12
Tell
them
I
never
reached
the
haven,
Where
I
sought
the
precious
dust,
But
have
gained
a
port
called
Heaven
Where
the
gold
will
never
rust.
13
Tell
my
sisters
I
remember
Every
kind
and
parting
word,
And
my
heart
has
been
kept
tender,
By
the
thoughts
its
memory
stirred.
14
Urge
them
to
secure
an
entrance
For
they'll
find
a
brother
there.
Faith
in
Jesus
and
repentance
Will
secure
for
them
a
share.
15
Hark!
I
hear
my
Saviour
speaking
'Tis-I
know
his
voice
so
well,
When
I
am
gone,
O
don't
be
weeping.
Brother,
hear
my
last
farewell,
F.
M.
Ball,
one
of
the
composers
of
the
above
tune,
was
one
of
the
revisors
of
The
Sacred
Harp.
See
further
sketches
of
him
in
other
parts
of
this
book.
We
have
no
history
of
Mr.
Drinkard.
It
is
supposed
that
the
authors
either
set
this
music
to
the
words
composed by
somebody
else,
or
arranged
the
same
themselves
from
some
incident
of
a
son
who
was
dying
away
from
home
and
giving
to
his
father,
mother,
and
brother,
and
sending
message
to
his
children.
The
stanzas
are
self-
explanatory,