Hymnal: Fillmore's Harp of Zion
Date: 1867
Compiler: A D Fillmore
Publisher/Printer: R W Carroll & Co
First Line: Over the river they beckon to me
Topic: <no topic given>
Writer: Nancy Priest
Composer: A Fillmore
Tune: Over the River
Hymn Number: <no hymn number given>
Page Number: 328, click to see hymnal pages
LyicsOver the river they beckon to me,
Loved ones who've cross'd to the further side;
The gleam of their snowy robes I see,
But their voices are drowned in the rushing tide.
There's one with ringlets of sunny gold,
And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue;
He cross'd in the twilight, gray and cold,
And the pale mist hid him from mortal view:
We saw not the angel that met him there;
The gates of the city we could not see;
But over the river, yes, over the river,
My brother stands waiting for me.
Over the river the boatman so pale,
Carried another- the household pet;
Her brown curls in the gentle gale-
Darling Minnie! I see, yes, I see her yet!
She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands,
And fearlessly entered the phantom bark;
We watched it glide from the silver strand,
And all our sunshine grew strangely dark.
We know she is safe on the further side,
Where all the redeemed and angels shall be;
Over the river, the mystic river,
The loved one is waiting for me.
None can return from those quiet shores,
Who cross with the boatman so cold and pale;
We hear the dip of the golden oars,
And catch a gleam of the snowy sail.
And lo! they have passed from our yearning heart,
They cross the stream and are gone for aye;
We may not sunder the veil apart,
That hides from our vision the gates of day;
We only know this, that their barks no more
May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea,
Yet somewhere I know, on the unseen shore,
They're waiting with welcome for me.
Waiting I think where the sunset's gold
Is flushing the river and hill and shore;
I soon shall stand by the waters cold,
And list for the sound of the boatman's oar;
I'll watch for the gleam of the flapping sail,
I'll hear the boat as it gains the strand,
I shall pass from sight, with the boatman pale,
To the better snore of the Spirit land.
We shall know the loved who've gone before,
And joyfully sweet will the meeting be,
When over the river, the turbulent river,
The glorified throng we shall see.