C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Phoebe Cary (1824–1871)

ONE sweetly solemn thought

Comes to me o’er and o’er—

I’m nearer home to-day

Than I ever have been before:

Nearer my Father’s house,

Where the many mansions be;

Nearer the great white Throne,

Nearer the jasper sea;

Nearer the bound of life,

Where we lay our burdens down;

Nearer leaving the cross,

Nearer wearing the crown!

But lying darkly between,

Winding down through the night,

Is the silent unknown stream

That leads at last to the light.

Closer and closer my steps

Come to the dread abysm;

Closer Death to my lips

Presses the awful chrism.

Father, perfect my trust!

Strengthen my feeble faith!

Let me feel as I would, when I stand

On the shore of the river of Death;

Feel as I would, when my feet

Are slipping over the brink:

For it may be I’m nearer home,

Nearer now, than I think.