The Hour of Death

The hour of sad memories
Brings back the happy few,
And the moon shines as a quiet breeze
Her mellow light through the dew.

Night falls with the happy thought
That I might live until morn,
With god's protection, without retort,
Without contempt or scorn.

If he my soul should take away
And to his bosom hold,
It's only then that I may say
The hour of death is gold.

Its gold for I am God's arms
In Heaven's quiet calm,
Where none beg from others alms
In the blessed quiet away from harm.

And so, now that the time has come
When I must surely die,
I'll surely try to be at home
For the hour of death is no lie.