Has bathed itself so freely in the blood
Of Jesus, that its stains of sin grow pale,
God always calls the spirit to himself,
To take its station near his own bright throne.
It could not breathe the atmosphere of earth
When it is purified and fit for Heaven.
But while it lives on earth ’tis human still,
And therefore sinful.
Round the open grave
Of her who died so far away from home,