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.

I am going, brother, going,
But my hope in God is strong;
I am willing, brother, knowing,
That He doeth nothing wrong.

Hark! I hear the Savior speaking,
’Tis, I know, His voice so well;
When I’m gone, Oh don’t be weeping,
Brother, hear my last farewell.

In memory of: Paul Luther Wilson, ✝ 22-03-2019

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