{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_50025/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_50025","id":"gutenberg_50025","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50025","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Poetry","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Indians of North America -- Poetry"],"text":"THE\n\n DYING INDIAN\u2019S\n\n =DREAM.=\n A POEM.\n\n BY SILAS TERTIUS RAND,\n Of Hantsport, Nova Scotia,\n MISSIONARY TO THE MIC-MAC INDIANS.\n\n (_THIRD EDITION, REVISED._)\n\n With some Additional Latin Poems.\n\n\n WINDSOR, N. S.:\n _C. W. KNOWLES_.\n 1881\n\n\n\n\n PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION.\n\nTHE WIGWAM SCENE described in the following pages, occurred at\nHantsport, Nova Scotia, in March, 1855. In the Sixth Annual Report of\nthe Mic-Mac Mission, in a letter written immediately after the event, I\nfind it thus described:\n\n\u201cAn event of some interest has just occurred here. One of our sick\nIndians, named John Paul, has just died, and was buried to-day. I have\ntaken from my first acquaintance with him, a great liking to him. I have\nspent many an hour with him in his wigwam. He always listened\nattentively to the Scriptures, and engaged readily in religious\nconversation, and I have not been without hope that the grace of God had\ntaken possession of his heart. Efforts were made to deter him from\nallowing my visits; but they were unavailing. I never aimed so much to\nattack his Romish errors directly, as to dwell upon the free salvation\nof the Gospel\u2014without money and without price. About last New Year\u2019s\nDay, while I was in Halifax, I was informed that the Romish priest had\nsent orders to him to leave Hantsport, and had threatened him with all\nthe curses of the Church if he remained. His statement to me when I\nreturned, was: \u201cI won\u2019t leave this place till I choose. It is not in the\npower of any man to keep me out of Heaven. That is a matter between God\nand my own soul.\u201d He said in Indian: \u201c_Neen alsoomse._\u201d \u201cI am my own\nmaster.\u201d He remained. He continued to listen to the Bible with\nattention, and to receive my visits with kindness and respect till he\ndied. I now recollect that when I came to read to him, he would send the\nsmall children away, so that we might not be disturbed. The last time I\nsaw him was a precious season to my own soul. It seemed easy to speak of\nthe Great Redeemer, and of the way of Salvation. I may say that special\nprayer was made for him in the Meeting House, where a number of\nchristian friends were assembled on the day before he died, holding a\nspecial prayer meeting on our own account. More than one fervent prayer\nwas offered up for the dying Indian. After the meeting I returned to my\nown house, where I met an Indian from John Paul\u2019s wigwam, who informed\nme that the poor fellow was near his end. \u201cBut oh,\u201d said he, \u201che is\nwonderfully happy! He says he is going right to heaven, and that he has\nalready had a glimpse of that bright happy world. He has been exhorting\nus all, and telling us how easy it is to be saved. He dreamed last night\nthat he was in heaven. Heaven seemed to him to be an immense great\npalace, as large as this world, all formed of gold. He saw there the\nglorious Redeemer, surrounded by an immense Host of Saints and Angels,\nall drest in white. As he entered he thought they gathered round him and\nshouted: JOHN PAUL has come! =John Paul= has come!\u201d The poor\nfellow did not die until the following morning, and just before he died\nhe looked up towards heaven, and declared that he saw the angels, and\nthe Glory of God. He was astonished that the others could not see what\nhe saw. He wanted them to hold up his children, that they might see the\nwonders that he himself saw. He then sank back on his pillow and quietly\nexpired.\n\nIt will be thus seen that the following Poem is not a work of _fiction_.\nIt aims to relate\u2014with some license of imagination, of course, else it\nwould not be poetry\u2014a plain historical fact. The description of Paul\u2019s\nskill and knowledge as a hunter, and in managing their frail little\nwater-crafts in a sea, is literally true of many of the Indians, and was\ntrue of him. His peace of mind in committing his family into the hands\nof God, after he found himself disabled, having burst a blood vessel by\ncarrying a large load, from which he never recovered\u2014he related to me:\nand this is expressed in the prayer put into his mouth at the close,\n\u201cwhich we did not fully _hear_ or _share_.\u201d\n\nIt may be added that after the Poem was written, I read it to the Indian\nwho gave me the account of John Paul\u2019s death, and as he spoke the\nEnglish language well, he had no difficulty in understanding it. And he\nassured me that it described the scene correctly.\n\nI may add that the _measure_\u2014or rather the utter disregard of all\nregular measure\u2014was suggested by an old poem I saw somewhere,\ndescribing a very different scene, and the \u201cwildness\u201d of it appealed to\nme to be just suited to a scene of the _Wilderness_ and the _wigwam_.\n\nIt will not surely be deemed a very great stretch of \u201cpoetic license\u201d to\nrepresent oneself as an eye- and ear-witness of a scene, with the\nsurroundings of which he was so familiar, and which had been so vividly\ndescribed by those who really _were_ present.\n\nNor need we speculate about the cause of dreams or their significance.\nNo one will deny that they may be a very exact index of the state of\nmind at the time, of the one who dreams. And the earnest prayer of the\nwriter, is, that the reader of these verses, and himself, may be, at the\ntime of our departure, so full of joy and peace in believing, that\nwhether waking or dreaming, we may \u201crejoice with that joy which is\nunspeakable and full of glory, receiving the end of our faith, even the\nsalvation of our souls.\u201d\n\n SILAS T. RAND.\n Hantsport, N. S.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n The Dying Indian\u2019s Dream.\n\n\n\n\n \u201cJesus, the vision of thy face,\n Hath overpowering charms;\n Scarce shall I feel Death\u2019s cold embrace,\n If Christ be in my arms.\n Then when you hear my heartstrings break,\n How sweet my minutes roll;\n A mortal paleness on my cheek,\n And glory in my soul.\u201d\u2014_Watts._\n\n\n\n\n I.\n\n Upon his bed of clay,\n Wasting away,\n Day after day,\n A sick and suffering Indian lay:\n No lordly Chieftain he,\n Of boasted pedigree,\n Or famed for bravery\n In battle, or for cruelty;\n He was of low degree,\n The child of poverty,\n And from his infancy,\n Inured to hardship, toil and pains;\n He was a Hunter, bold and free,\n Of famed ACADIA\u2019S plains.\n He\u2019d roamed at will,\n O\u2019er rock and hill,\n And every spot he knew,\n Of forest wide,\n Of mountain side,\n Of bush and brake,\n Of stream and lake,\n Of sunny pool and alder shade,\n Where the trout and the salmon played,\n Where the weeping willow wept,\n Where the whistling wood-cock kept,\n Where the mink and the martin crept,\n Where the wolf and the wild-cat stept,\n Where the bear and the beaver slept,\n Where the roaring torrent swept,\n Where the wandering woodman strayed,\n Where the hunter\u2019s lodge was made,\n Where his weary form was laid;\n Where the fish and the game abound,\n Where the various kinds are found,\n Every month the Seasons round:\n Where beetling bluffs o\u2019er hang the deep,\n Where laughing cascades foam and leap,\n Dancing away from steep to steep:\n Where the ash and the maple grew,\n Where the hawk and the eagle flew,\n Sailing in the azure blue.\n With matchless skill,\n He could hunt and kill,\n The moose and the carriboo,\n And smoothly ride\n On the rolling tide,\n In the light and frail canoe;\n Though in angry gusts the tempest blew,\n Though the thunders roared,\n And the torrents poured,\n And the vivid lightnings flew;\n With a noble pride,\n Which fear defied,\n With steady hand and true,\n The fragile skiff\n By the frowning cliff,\n He could steadily guide,\n And safely glide,\n In joyful glee,\n Triumphantly,\n The roaring surges through.\n\n\n II.\n\n And many a weary day,\n He had toiled away,\n In his own humble home,\n At basket, bark, and broom,\n To gain the scanty fare,\n Doled out to him grudgingly, where\n His ancient sires,\n Kindled their fires,\n And roamed without control,\n Over those wide domains,\n Rocks, rivers, hills, and plains,\n In undisputed right, lords of the whole.\n But ah! those days were gone,\n And weeks and months had flown,\n Since dire disease had laid him low;\n Nor huntsman\u2019s skill,\n Nor workman\u2019s will,\n In want, in danger, or alarm,\n Could nerve his powerless, palsied arm,\n Or bend his useless bow.\n But God was there,\n And fervent prayer,\n To Heaven ascended,\n And sweetly blended\n With angel\u2019s song,\n From Seraph\u2019s tongue;\n And Joy was there, and Hope, and Faith,\n Triumphing over pain and death;\n The Light of Truth around him shone,\n Auspicious of the brighter dawn;\n He trusted in the living God,\n As washed in Jesus\u2019 precious blood:\n No dread of death or priestly power,\n Could shake him in that fearful hour,\n Nor tyrant\u2019s rod.\n The fluttering breath from his palsied lung,\n No utterance gave to his quivering tongue;\n But still his ear\n Was bent to hear\n The Words of Truth and Love;\n His flashing eye\n Glanced toward the sky,\n And he whispered, \u201cI shall die;\n But God is Love; There\u2019s rest above.\u201d\n\n\n III.\n\n He slept! the dying Indian slept!\n A balmy peace had o\u2019er him crept,\n And for the moment kept\n His senses steeped\n In calm and sweet repose,\u2014\n Such as the dying Christian only knows.\n Consumption\u2019s work was done;\n Its racking course was run;\n His flesh was wasted, gone;\n He seemed but skin and bone,\n A breathing skeleton\u2014\n Deep silence reigned\u2014no sound,\n Save the light fluttering round\n Of scattered leaflets, found\n Upon the frozen ground,\n And the gently whispering breeze,\n Soft sighing through the trees,\n Was in the wigwam heard;\n The voice of man, and beast, and bird,\n Were hushed\u2014save the deep drawn sigh,\n And the feeble wail of the infant\u2019s cry,\n Soothed by the mother\u2019s sobbing lullaby,\n And bursts of grief from children seated nigh,\n Waiting to see their father die.\n Kindred and friends were there,\n Gathered for prayer,\n To soothe the suffering and the grief to share;\n And Angel Bands were near,\n Waiting with joy to bear\n A ransomed spirit to that World on high,\n That \u201cHeaven of joy and love, beyond the Sky.\u201d\n\n\n IV.\n\n He dreamed! the dying Indian dreamed!\n Flashes of Glory round him gleamed!\n A bright effulgence beamed\n From on high, and streamed\n Far upward and around; it seemed\n That his work on earth was done,\n That his mortal course was run,\n Life\u2019s battle fought and won;\n That he stood alone,\n Happy, light and free,\n Listening to sweetest melody,\n And softest harmony,\n From the etherial plains,\n In loud extatic strains,\n Such as no mortal ear,\n Could bear, or be allowed to hear.\n When suddenly to his wondering eyes,\n Upstarting to the skies,\n A glorious Palace stood;\n All formed of burnished gold,\n Solid, of massive mould,\n The bright Abode\n Of the Creator God!\n Ample, vast and high,\n Like Earth, and Sea, and Sky,\n The Palace of the King of kings,\n Where the flaming Seraph sings,\n Waving his golden wings;\n Where the ransomed sinner brings,\n Honour and glory to the Eternal Son,\n Casting his dazzling crown,\n In lowly adoration down,\n Before the blazing Throne,\n Of the Eternal Three in One.\n But oh! what rapturous sounds!\n A shout through Heaven resounds!\n Myriads of happy spirits, robed in white,\n More pure and bright\n Than the noonday light,\n Are standing round the Throne,\n Of the Eternal One.\n Every eye upon him turns,\n Every breast with rapture burns,\n And trembles the lofty Dome,\n As they shout him welcome home\u2014\n \u201cJOHN PAUL has come! JOHN PAUL has come!\u201d\n\n\n V.\n\n He woke! the dying Indian woke\n Opened his eyes and spoke:\n A heavenly radiance broke\n From his bright beaming eye,\n And with a loud exultant cry,\n And clear ringing voice,\n In the soft accents of his native tongue,\n And in glowing imagery,\n Suited to the theme,\n Like that of the Immortal Dreamer\u2019s Dream,\n In Bedford\u2019s mystic \u201cDen,\u201d whose fame,\n He\u2019d never heard, nor knew the \u201cPilgrim\u2019s\u201d name,\u2014\n Or that Sublimer Song,\n By John of old, in Patmos\u2019 Prison sung,\n To the Celestial Throng;\u2014\n Whose dazzling visions of the Throne,\n He\u2019d never read, or heard, or known;\n He told the visions of his head,\n While slumbering upon his bed;\n And spoke of those unutterable joys\n Prepared on high,\n Beyond the sky,\n For sinners saved in Jesus when they die.\n\n\n VI.\n\n With mute amaze,\n And earnest gaze,\n Seated round his cot\n Entranced, and to the spot\n Enchained, we listen to the story,\n Catching glimpses of the glory;\n As though the echoing roll\n From the Eternal Hill,\n In soft vibrations broke,\n Upon our senses while he spoke,\n Sending through every soul,\n A deep unutterable thrill!\n \u201cOh! I have been in Heaven!\u201d\n To me it has been given\n To see the Throne of Light,\n And Hosts of Angels bright,\n And Ransomed Spirits robed in white;\n They knew my name,\n And who I am,\n And whence I came;\n I heard them loud through heaven proclaim:\n \u201cMake room! make room!\n JOHN PAUL has come! JOHN PAUL has come!\u201d\n Bear the glad tidings far\n As the remotest star!\n Let every tongue\n The shout prolong!\n Sound the Redeemer\u2019s praise,\n In loudest, loftiest lays!\n Your noblest Anthems raise\n To everlasting days,\n To Him who bought him\n With His precious blood;\n To Him who brought him\n To this bright Abode\n Of perfect blessedness,\n And everlasting peace,\n \u201cThe Bosom of his Father and his God.\u201d\n\n\n VII.\n\n \u201cOh! I shall surely reach that place,\n Through matchless grace!\n One moment more below\n I linger, then I go,\n From this dark world of woe,\n Where floods of sorrow overflow,\n To those bright beauteous Plains,\n Where Glory everlasting reigns:\n That Land of heavenly Rest,\n Among the Pure and Blest,\n Where Jesus is\u2014where I\n Shall never sin again or sigh;\u2014\n In that bright World on high,\n There are no stains\n Of sin, and no remains\n Of sorrow, sighs, and pains;\n But pure and perfect happiness,\n And royal robes of heavenly dress,\n I shall eternally possess:\n Where holiness and peace\n Never to cease,\n But ever to increase,\n Abound\u2014ah yes! this Bliss,\n Which I shall there possess,\n In all its glorious blessedness,\n Forever and forever reigns,\n O\u2019er all those wide extended plains.\u201d\n\n \u201cOh! I must meet _you_ there,\n My brothers! you must share\n That Blessedness with me,\n So wonderful, so free;\n That Mansion in the skies,\n Not bought with gold or price,\n But with the precious blood,\n Of Christ, the Lamb of God,\n Who died on Calvary\u2019s bloody tree,\n In pain, and bitterest agony,\n To set us guilty sinners free,\n From all our sin and misery.\n Oh! wondrous Love! that _we_, even WE,\n Despised, degraded, though we be,\n In wretchedness and poverty,\n May find Redemption in his Name,\n That rich Inheritance to claim,\n With yonder blood-washed company,\n All robed in spotless purity,\n And Joy, to all eternity.\u201d\n \u201cOh! listen to the Great Redeemer\u2019s voice,\n Receive His Word, make Him your choice,\n Trust in His Name, and in His Love rejoice,\n Forsake all sin, repent, and be forgiven,\n Then I shall meet you all again in Heaven.\u201d\n\n\n VIII.\n\n He ceased\u2014his word, no longer heard,\n Through every chord, our souls had stirred.\n The glistening eye, gave back reply,\n Then rose on high, the heart-felt cry:\n Lord, grant that I, when called to die,\n May thus be blessed, from pain released,\n As Heavenly Guest, with Thee to feast:\n Oh! be Thou near, my soul to cheer,\n That doubt and fear, may disappear,\n That joy and rest, may fill my breast,\n That visions bright, of heavenly light,\n Like his to-night, may cheer my sight.\n Should quiet sleep my senses keep,\n And Fancy leap the pathless steep,\n Where whirl the streams of airy dreams,\n With glittering gleams, of heavenly beams,\u2014\n Oh! may I in fit frame be found,\n To dream of \u201cAngels hovering round,\u201d\n And \u201cleave the world without a tear,\n Save for the friends I hold so dear.\u201d\n Or should fierce pains forbid to sleep,\n May I amid the anguish deep,\n When shuddering death-chills o\u2019er me creep,\n And friends around me mourn and weep,\n Be buoyed above the waves\u2019 wild sweep,\n Where bursting billows roar and leap;\n And hear the \u2018whispering angels\u2019 say,\n \u201cSister Spirit, come away;\u201d\n And borne on Faith and Fancy\u2019s wing,\n Still hear them as they shout, and sing,\n \u201cMy ears with sounds seraphic ring,\u201d\n My soul through all its mystic springs,\n Thrill like a Harp\u2019s harmonious strings,\n Defiance at the foe to fling;\n That I may shout, exult, and cry:\n \u201cLend, lend, your wings! I mount, I fly!\u201d\n \u201cOh! Death, where is thy victory!\n Oh! Death, where is thy sting!\u201d\n My faith has triumphed over thee,\n A conquered _captive_, not a _king_:\n \u201cJesus can make a dying bed\n Feel soft as downy pillows are;\n Here on His breast I lean my head,\n And breathe my life out sweetly there.\u201d\n\n\n IX.\n\n We watch the dying man meanwhile,\n His face all radiant with a smile;\n His lips still move, as if in prayer,\n A prayer we may not fully share;\n But One is near, whose gracious ear,\n The deep unuttered groan can hear.\n Nor need we doubt or judge amiss,\n What the heart\u2019s inmost yearning is.\n The quivering lip, the tearful eye,\n Can well attest the earnest cry,\n Of the stirred soul\u2019s deep agony;\n And taught of God, we join the prayer,\n We may not fully hear or share.\n Our eyes and hearts to Heaven we raise,\n While thus the dying Indian prays:\u2014\n \u201cGod of eternal Love,\n Look from Thy throne above,\n Bow down thy gracious ear,\n My dying prayer to hear;\n Fulfil Thy promises,\n Thy promises to bless\n The widow and the fatherless.\n Grant this last boon I crave!\n May they have bread when I am dead,\n And by thy bounty still be fed,\n When I am in my grave.\n Better than earthly father\u2019s care,\n Oh! may they in thy goodness share!\n Grant them all needed good;\n For soul and body, food;\n And may thy mighty arm,\n Protect them from all harm.\n I leave them at thy call,\n Mother and children all:\n Oh! let no fears appal!\n And let them never fail or fall!\n I trust them, Lord, to Thee,\n Thou wilt their Father be,\n For time and for eternity.\n Thy promises are sure,\n The needy, helpless, poor,\n Though crushed to death and dust,\n May in Thy goodness trust,\n And rest upon thy Word,\n Thou ever blessed Lord!\u201d\n \u201cOh! bless my people! bless\n Them in their helplessness!\n Their poverty and wretchedness,\n Their misery and distress.\n Bless the whole Indian race!\n That they may know thy grace!\n Do thou their hearts prepare,\n That they may freely share,\n Those blessings rich and rare,\n That from the Gospel flow,\u2014\n Salvation here below,\n At all times trusting Thee, and go\n To that bright World on high,\n Of Glory when they die;\n That they may shine,\n In Love divine,\n And with Thee rest\n Forever blest!\u201d\n\n\n X.\n\n Now droops his weary head\n Exhausted on his bed.\n His dying prayer has ceased;\n Convulsive heaves his breast;\n We deem him sunk to rest,\n Breathing his _last_ and _best_;\n When suddenly his eyes\n He opens on the skies,\n And startling us with surprise,\n He waves his hand and cries:\n \u201cI see, I see the place!\n I see my Saviour\u2019s face!\n Look, children, look! your eyes\n Raise, and look toward the skies!\n Bright beams of Glory\n Come hovering o\u2019er me!\n See! see! they\u2019re opening wide,\n The flaming gates of Paradise!\n Bright angels downward glide,\n And standing near my side,\n They smile and bid me come,\n To my eternal home.\u201d\n\n\n XI.\n\n He dies, the happy Indian dies,\n Closes his eyes to earth, and flies\n Up to the regions of the skies.\n Angelic legions lead the way,\n To the portals of celestial day.\n Wide spreads the news, all Heaven rings,\n Angels and ransomed spirits wave their wings,\n All lowly bending to the King of kings;\n Mingling their loftiest harmonies,\n Their sweetest, softest melodies,\n High Heaven\u2019s eternal Minstrelsies,\n With harp and voice and choral symphonies,\n Loud as the sounding of ten thousand seas!\n They shout him welcome to his heavenly Home:\n \u201cJOHN PAUL has come! JOHN PAUL has come!\u201d\n Bear the glad tidings far\n As the remotest star!\n Let every tongue,\n The shout prolong!\n Sound the Redeemer\u2019s praise,\n In loudest, loftiest lays!\n Your noblest anthems raise\n To everlasting days,\n To Him who bought him\n With His precious blood,\n To Him who brought him\n To this bright Abode\n Of perfect blessedness,\n And Everlasting Peace,\n \u201cThe Bosom of his Father and his God!\u201d\n\n\n XII.\n\n Oh! Bliss Immortal! hail! all hail!\n All glory, honour, to the Lamb who died!\n Now seated glorious at His Father\u2019s side.\n Sound through the Universe his Name!\n His matchless Love his Fame proclaim!\n Till all His foes are put to shame.\n And let the Story of the Cross prevail\n O\u2019er every Mountain, Island, Hill, and Dale,\n Of the wide world, and satan\u2019s power destroy,\u2014\n The wondrous news thrill every heart with joy\u2014\n Wafted on every breeze, by every swelling gale,\n Till sin and suffering, shame and sorrow fail;\n \u2019Gainst Love Omnipotent no force prevail;\n Till all His foes subdued shall bow the knee,\n To Him who died on Calvary\u2019s bloody tree,\n For lost and guilty men, of every race,\n Of every nation, station, time and place.\n Oh swell the joyful notes of Jubilee!\n The year of Grace! the year of Liberty!\n Burst! burst! ye prison bars! let Man be free!\n HE died for all, of every tribe and hue,\n Anglican, Indian, Ethiop, Greek and Jew.\n All, all are welcome! wide heaven\u2019s gates expand;\n _There_ every name is known from every Land,\n _There_ burst Hosannas, Heaven\u2019s loud acclaim,\n O\u2019er every new-arrived, his name they name.\n While all the blood-washed Throng,\n In accents loud and long,\n Their rapturous joy proclaim,\n Shouting and singing, Glory to the Lamb!\n All praise to Him who sits upon the Throne,\n Who rules the Universe, the Lord alone!\n Jehovah, Jesus, Saviour, Great I AM!\n To Him who bought us\n With His precious blood;\n To Him who brought us\n To this Bright Abode,\n Of perfect Blessedness,\n And Everlasting Peace,\n \u201cThe Bosom of Our Father and our God!\u201d\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n =Latin Translations.=\n\n\n =[The following attempts at a translation of a couple of Psalms,\n and some of our beautiful Evangelical Hymns into Latin, will\n interest those who are acquainted with that noble old Tongue;\n more especially if they are at all conversant with the Latin\n Hymnology and methods of versification of what are designated\n the _Middle Ages_.]=\n\n\n\n\n\n\n Psalmus XXIII.\n\n\n\n\n 1. Est Jehova Pastor meus,\n Meus Dominus et Deus,\u2014\n Ego impotens et reus\u2014\n Ergo non carebo.\n Suam ovem stabulatque,\n Prata graminosa datque.\n Rivis placidis lavatque,\n Illuc ducit, propinatque;\n Itaque valebo.\n\n 2. Animamque reportavit\n Meam, saepe recreavit;\n Me quaesivit et servavit,\n Optimus Curator.\n V\u00fcs rectis, praeparatis,\n Aequitati consecratis,\n Ducit Deus bonitatis,\n Propter suum nomen gratis,\n Ductor et Salvator.\n\n 3. Transeam caliginosa\n Loca, et calamitosa,\n Dura, dira, luctuosa,\n Hostes et obstantes;\n Non formido aerumnosa\n Mala, tetra, dolorosa;\n Gaudens fero lacrimosa,\n Inter Te amantes.\n Confidenter ibo Tecum;\n Nam Tu semper eris mecum;\n Tua virga, tuum pedum,\n Ample consolantes.\n 4. Mensam mihi preparasque,\n Coram hostes, panem dasque;\n In clementi\u00e2 prope stasque:\n Mea pax abundat:\n Sanctum oleum benignum,\n Super caput tam indignum\n Meum fundis,\u2014clarum signum:\n Meum vas redundat.\n\n 5. Immo bonitas divina,\n Valetudo genuina,\n Cum clementi\u00e2 supern\u00e2,\n Et benignitas aeterna,\n Semper me sequentur.\n Dum in vita remanebo,\n Dei grati\u00e2 gaudebo:\n Ejus domum habitabo,\n Ejus nomen collaudabo,\n Et indesinenter.\n\n\n\n\n Psalmus C.\n\n\n\n\n 1. In Jehovam vos ovate,\n Et gaudete, et cantate,\n Omnes terram habitantes.\n Laeti Dominum, servite,\n Et cum gaudio gestite,\n Coram Illum triumphantes.\n\n 2. Nostr\u00fbm Deus est Creator,\n Dominator et Salvator,\n Deus unus, Auctor rerum:\n Fecit nos, et nos nutrivit,\n Regit, tutat, repetivit,\n Oves perditos ad Herum.\n\n 3. Ejus portas introite;\n Claris laudibus adite;\n Illum Dominum clamantes:\n Illum bonum, semper verum,\n Fidelissimumque Herum,\n In eternum adorantes.\n\n\n\n\n \u201cNearer My God to Thee.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n 1. Propius, O Deus mi, propius ad\n Te,\n Etiamsi crux erit qu\u00e6 tollat\n me:\n Canam continue\u2014\n Mi Deus, prope Te;\n Propius, O Deus mi, propius ad\n Te.\n\n 2. Erroni noctu quamvis similis,\n Quiescam super stratum\n lapidis,\u2014\n Delectat esse me\n In somnis prope Te;\n Propius, O Deus mi, propius ad\n Te.\n\n 3. Ut scalae tunc ad coelos via\n sit;\n Quaecunque mihi des, clementi\u00e2\n fit:\n Sunto coelicolae;\n Nutantes vocent me,\n Propius, O Deus mi, propius ad\n Te.\n\n 4. Tum experrecta laude fulget\n mens,\n Petrosis malis \u201cBethel\u201d\n extruens:\n Sic moeror urget me,\n Mi Deus, prope Te,\n Propius, O Deus mi, propius ad\n Te.\n\n 5. Si laetis pennis findens a\u00ebra.\n Relictis stellis, petam\n supera\u2014\n Quam jucundissime,\n Cantabo\u2014Prope Te,\n Propius, O Deus mi, propius ad\n Te.\n\n\n\n\n \u201cRock of Ages Cleft for Me.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n Rupes Saeculorum, Te,\n Pro me fissa, condam me!\n Aquae Fons et sanguinis,\n Duplex tui lateris,\n Scelerum purgatio\n Sit, et expiatio.\n\n Nunquam possim exsequi,\n Tua lex qu\u00e6 mandet mi;\n Quamvis strenuus semper sim,\n Atque semper fleverim,\n Hoc nil expiaverit;\n In Te solo salus sit.\n\n Nil in manu tulero;\n Tuae cruci h\u00e6reo;\n Vestes mihi nudo des,\n Inopemque subleves;\n Fonti foedus advolo;\n Nisi laves pereo.\n\n Dum vitalem haurio vim,\n Cumque moribundus sim,\n Quum per stellas evolem,\u2014\n Ante tuum thronum stem,\n Rupes Saeculorum, Te,\n Pro me fissa, condam me.\n\n\n\n\n \u201cJesus Refuge of My Soul!\u201d\n\n\n\n\n O Pr\u00e6sidium, Jesu mi,\n Fugiam tuo pectori:\n Torrens propius \u00e6stuet,\n Dum procella fureret:\n Hoc in vit\u00e6 turbine,\n O Salvator, tege me!\n Fac ut tutus, integer,\n Tecum semper commorer.\n\n Soli es Refugio:\n Tibi lassus h\u00e6reo:\n Ne relinque solum me;\n Sit solatium per Te.\n Tibi dum confisus sim,\n Plenas opes tulerim:\n Me defende, debilem,\n Me tutator, inopem.\n\n Tu, O Jesu, mihi es\n Omnes res optabiles:\n Aegrum, lapsum, sublevas,\n Opem fesso, coeco, das:\n Facile es sanctissimus;\n Ego sum perimprobus,\n F\u0153dus, plenus scelerum\u2014\n Tu, bonorum omnium.\n\n Gratia satis est in Te,\n Sontem perabsolvere.\n Fluat flumen affatim,\n Purus ut ex toto sim.\n Jesus, Fons vitalis es:\n Sumam qu\u00e6 benigne des:\n Vive mi in pectore,\n Fons Aeternat Domine!\n\n\n\n\n \u201cAbide With Me, Fast Falls the Eventide.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n Mecum habita, Domine! ultima labitur hora diei:\n Quam tenebrae condensantur! Tu mecum habitato!\n Deficiunt adjutores, atque omnia grata;\n Tu, qui non spernes inopes, O mecum habitato!\n\n Ad metam tenuis vit\u00e6, properant rapidae horae;\n Blanditiae pereunt, et transit gloria mundi:\n Omnia mutari, corrumpique, undique vidi;\n Tu qui immutatus remanes, O mecum habitato.\n\n Te, Domine, est mihi nunc opus omni hora fugienti:\n Tu solus valeas hostes mihi vincere saevos:\n Tu solus firmum me, et salvum ducere possis:\n In tranquillo, in turbinibus, Tu, O mecum habitato.\n\n Hostes non timeo, quum Tu stas praesto beare;\n Adversi casus faciles sunt absque dolore;\n Terrores mortis, stimuli, et victoria, desunt;\n Laetatusque exsultabo, nam mecum habitabis.\n\n Mi juvenescenti, blandus Tu nempe favisti;\n Ah me! quam brutus! quam perversusque remansi!\n Non discessisti a me, saepe ut deserui Te:\n O Domine, usque et ad extremum, Tu mecum habitato.\n\n Ad oculos crucem dormitanti mihi monstra;\n Illustra tenebras, et me erige visere coelos:\n En, umbrae fugiunt! et mane rubescere coepit!\n In vita, in morte, O Domine, O Tu mecum habitato!\n\n\n\n\n \u201cJust as I Am Without One Plea.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n Sicuti sum\u2014nec sine spe,\n Quia Tu mortuus es pro me,\n Et jubes ire me ad Te\u2014\n O Agnus Dei, venio.\n Sicuti sum\u2014nec haesitem,\n Ut maculas abluerem;\n Mundus per tuum sanguinem,\n O Agnus Dei, venio.\n Sicuti sum\u2014jactatus sim,\n Et dubitans dum conflixerim,\n Certansque, timens, perdo vim,\n O Agnus Dei, venio.\n Sicuti sum\u2014miserrime\n C\u0153cus, nudusque omni re,\n Ut omnia capiam in Te,\n O Agnus Dei, venio.\n Sicuti sum\u2014recipies,\n Purgabis, solves, eximes;\n Nam credo quod promitteres:\n O Agnus Dei, venio.\n Sicuti sum\u2014agnosco Te,\n Salvasse per amorem me,\n Ut tuus sim assidue:\n O Agnus Dei, venio.\n\n\n\n\n TRANSCRIBER NOTES\n\nMisspelled words and printer errors have been corrected.\n\nInconsistencies in punctuation have been maintained.\n\nA cover was created for this eBook.\n\n[The end of _The Dying Indian's Dream_, by Silas Tertius Rand.]","title":"The Dying Indian's Dream: A Poem","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":4637}