| Lyrics: | THE DYING CALIFORNIAN
Lay up nearer, brother, nearer,
For my limbs are growing
cold.
And thy presence seemeth nearer
When thine arms around me fold.
I am dying,
brother, dying
Soon you'll miss me in your berth;
For my form will soon be
lying
'Neath the ocean's briny surf.
Tell my father, when you see him,
That in death
I prayed for him,
Prayed that I might only meet him
In a world that's free from
sin.
Tell my mother, God assist her,
Now that she is growing old,
That her child
would glad have kissed her
When his lips grew pale and cold.
Listen brother, catch
each whisper,
'Tis my wife I speak of now,
Tell, oh tell her how I missed her
When
the fever burned my brow.
Tell her she must kiss my children
Like the kiss I last
impressed;
Hold them, as when last I held them
Held them closely to my breast.
It was
for them I crossed the ocean,
What my hopes were, I'll not tell;
But they gained an
orphan's portion
Yet He doeth all things well;
Tell them I have reached the
haven
Where I sought the precious dust,
But I gained a port called Heaven
Where the
gold will never rust.
From The Ballad of America.
@death @family
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