Biographical Sketch.
Zion's Advocate, November 1901, Vol. 40, No. 11.
Sang a boy with childish glee;
With no wave of care to roll
O'er his heart so light and free.
Little feels he need to pray,
:Let me to thy bosom fly;"
Passing time away in play,
With no threat'ning "tempest" nigh.
"Jesus, lover of my soul,"
Later sang the same gay boy,
Fully under sin's control,
Seeking naught but present joy.
Never pausing once to think,
As the flying moments go,
He is standing on the brink,
Fearful brink of endless woe.
"Jesus, lover of my soul,"
Pleadingly he later cried,
"Why should Jesus love my soul
Could it be for me he died?"
"Let me to thy bosom fly,"
Now he pleads, convinced of sin.
"Save me, Jesus, or I die,
From the "tempest" take me in."
"Jesus, lover of my soul;"
Now he feels these words are true.
Christ has made the wounded whole,
To his name all praise is due.
"Let me to thy bosom fly,"
Blessed rest, secure retreat;
Now, the threat'ning waves so nigh,
All in vain with fury beat.
"Jesus, lover of my soul;"
Age, old age has come, and now
Frightful waves of trouble roll,
Sorrow's weight bends low the bough.
"I am all unrighteousness;"
Thus the aged pilgrim sings,
Knowing nothing else but grace,
Sure support and comfort brings.
"Jesus, lover of my soul,"
Sings the dying saint at last,
"Hide me while the billows roll,
Till the storm of life is past."
Lo, the soul is covered now
With the Saviour's balmy wing;
Beams of peace o'erspreads the brow,
Death has lost its cruel sting.
Rest, dear soul, forever rest,
For thy sorrows now are o'er;
In the mansions of the blest
Thou shalt dwell forever more.
Thou hast gone to that dear friend,
Lover sure enough was he;
Now thy bliss shall have no end,
In that land from tempest free.
J. R. D.
Copyright c. 2005. All rights reserved. The Primitive Baptist Library.
