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 due emblems 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.