The Dying Californian
Composer(s): John Renfro Davis



Lay up nearer, brother, nearer
For my limbs are growing cold
And thy presence seemeth nearer
When thine arms around me fold
I am dying, brother, dying
Soon you'll miss me in your berth
For my form will soon be lying
Beneath the ocean's briny surf

Tell my father when you see him
That in death I prayed for him
Prayed that I might only meet him
In a world that's free from sin
Tell my mother, God assist her
Now that she is growing old
That her child would glad have kissed her
When his lips grew pale and cold

Listen, brother, catch each whisper
'Tis my wife I speak of now
Tell, oh tell her how I missed her
When the fever burned my brow
Tell her she must kiss my children
Like the kiss I last impressed
Hold them as when last I held them
Held them closely to my breast

It was for them I crossed the ocean
What my hopes were I'll not tell
But they gained an orphan's portion
Yet He doeth all things well
Tell them I have reached the haven
Where I sought the precious dust
And I gained a port called Heaven
Where the gold will never rust