105

 105. Hora Novissima  WHENE'ER goes forth Thy dread command,  And my last hour is nigh, Lord, grant me in a Christian land,  As I was born, to die.  I pray not, Lord, that friends may be,  Or kindred, standing by, Choice blessing! which I leave to Thee  To grant me or deny.  But let my failing limbs beneath  My Mother's smile recline; And prayers sustain my labouring breath  From out her sacred shrine.  And let the Cross beside my bed  In its dread Presence rest: And let the absolving words be said,  To ease a laden breast.  Thou, Lord, where'er we lie, canst aid; But He, who taught His own To live as one, will not upbraid The dread to die alone.

   At Sea .  June 22, 1833.