For a Dying Friend, Part 3

Triumphant soul, the hour is come
That calls thee to thy Saviour's breast;
The exile is returning home,
The weary entering into rest,
The angels for their charge attend,
And I must render up my friend.

My friend, how shall I let thee go?
How can I bear with thee to part?
Dearer than life and all below,
Wound in the fibres of my heart,
With thee my mingled spirits join,.
My life is all wrapp'd up in thine.

And can I see thee die unmoved,
In death so full of love to me?
Most loving soul, and most beloved,
My sister, and my friend I see,
My first concern, my tend'rest care,
My child — the daughter of my prayer.

labours for thee my struggling soul,
Thy pangs my bleeding bosom move;
Of complicated passion full,
Pity, and grief, and joy, and love,
I feel thy last great agony,
And gasps my soul to die with thee.

Envious I view that faded cheek,
That cheek with deadly pale o'erspread;
Falters thy tongue, and fails to speak,
And heaves thy breast, and droops thy head,
Glimmers the lamp of life, and dies —
And I am here to close thine eyes.

I wait to catch thy parting breath,
And feel the answer of thy prayer;
Bless me, even me, my friend, in death,
And ask that I thy bliss may share,
May soon like thee my life resign;
O let thy latter end be mine!