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-4-

stormy wind that blows, 
From every swelling tide of woes, There is a calm a sure retreat,-
'Tis found beneath the Mercy Seas."  
Here is one of my favorites; I wish it was so that I might sing it to- morrow in the appreciative ears of my boy. If he can bear it, give him my love, and read it to him:-
My latest sun is sinking fast,  
My race is nearly run;
My strongest trials now are past,
My  triumph  is begun.
O, come, angel band, come and around me stand,
O bear me away on your snowy wings
To my immortal home.
I know I am nearing the holy ranks 
Of friends and kindred dear,
For I brush the dews on Jordan's banks,-
The crossing must be near.
I've almost gained my heavenly home,
My spirit loudly sings;
Thy holy ones behold they come!
 I hear the noise of wings.