Above the song of the brook that seemed like a tender accompaniment to the tinkle of the mandolins the music rose, and old Joe woke from his dream of pain.
I looked o-ver Jordan and what did I see
Com-ing for to car-ry me home? A
band of an-gels com-ing aft-er me,
Com-ing for to car-ry me home.
Oh, light of the angels! Oh, rapture of the song! The familiar words brought back so much to the old man's listening soul!
Swing low, sweet char-i-ot,
Com-ing for to car-ry me home,
The fragrant shower fell around him. He grasped a great white rose that was within reach of his hand and pressed it to his parched lips.