He lay in the stilly silence
Of a quiet, darkened room,
Feeling that the dread death angel
Stands in the gathering gloom.
One foot on shadowy waters,
One foot on the earthly shore;
He swears to the shrinking mortal,
That his time shall be no more.
The spray of the silent river,
Is cold beaded on his brow,
For Jordan's billowy swellings
Are bearing him onward now
He is floating into darkness,
Going with the shifting tide,
And there is the seat of judgment,
Waits him at the further side.
But his eyes are looking backward,
In pauses of mortal strife,
And he sees the quiet village,
Where he preached the word of life.
And he sees the pleasant cottage,
To which in the flush of pride,
The popular village pastor,
Brought home a most haughty bride
But ever there comes another,
With a pale and pleading face,
So helpless, and so unwelcome,
A burden and a disgrace
And the river roars and rushes,
Leaping past with fearful din,
Its ever foaming caldron
Suggesting a deadly sin.
Saying, "I am partially sheeted,
In the winter's ice and snow,
What's plunged in my dashing waters,
No mortal shall ever know"
So ever with nervous fingers,
He harnesses up his sleigh;
So ever with stealthy movements,
He travels the icy way.