Softly his fainting head he layUpon his Maker's breast;His Maker kiss'd his soul away,And laid his flesh to rest.
The tall, the wise, the reverend headMust lie as low as ours. Attributed Hymns and Spiritual Songs (1773)
When I can read my title clearTo mansions in the skies,I'll bid farewell to every fear,And wipe my weeping eyes. Attributed Hymns and Spiritual Songs (1773)