When ends life’s transient dream,
    When death’s cold, sullen stream
       Shall o’er me roll,
    Blest Saviour, then, in love,
    Fear and distrust remove;
    O, bear me safe above,
       A ransomed soul.

Jordan’s Strand

    My days are gliding swiftly by,
      And I, a pilgrim stranger,
    Would not detain them as they fly,
      Those hours of toil and danger.

Chorus

    For, O we stand on Jordan’s strand,
      Our friends are passing over;
    And, just before, the shining shore
      We may almost discover!

    We’ll gird our loins, my brethren dear,
      Our heavenly home discerning;
    Our absent Lord has left us word,
      “Let every lamp be burning.”

    Should coming days be cold and dark,
      We need not cease our singing;
    That perfect rest nought can molest,
      Where golden harps are ringing.

    Let sorrow’s rudest tempest blow,
      Each cord on earth to sever;
    Our King says, “Come!” and there’s our home,
      Forever, O forever.

Over the Line

    O tender and sweet was the Master’s voice
      As he lovingly call’d to me,
    “Come over the line, it is only a step—­
      I am waiting my child, for thee.”

Refrain

    “Over the line,” hear the sweet refrain,
      Angels are chanting the heavenly strain: 
    “Over the line,”—­Why should I remain
      With a step between me and Jesus?

    But my sins are many, my faith is small,
      Lo! the answer came quick and clear;
    “Thou needest not trust in thyself at all,
      Step over the line, I am here.”

    But my flesh is weak, I tearfully said,
      And the way I cannot see;
    I fear if I try I may sadly fail,
      And thus may dishonor Thee.

    Ah, the world is cold, and I cannot go back
      Press forward I surely must;
    I will place my hand in his wounded palm
      Step over the line, and trust.

O could I speak the Matchless Worth

    O could I speak the matchless worth,
    O could I sound the glories forth,
      Which in my Saviour shine,
    I’d soar, and touch the heav’nly strings,
    And vie with Gabriel while he sings,
      In notes almost divine.

    I’d sing the precious blood He spilt,
    My ransom from the dreadful guilt
      Of sin and wrath divine;
    I’d sing His glorious righteousness,
    In which all-perfect, heavenly dress
      My soul shall ever shine.

    I’d sing the characters He bears,
    And all the forms of love He wears,
      Exalted on His throne;
    In loftiest songs of sweetest praise,
    I would to everlasting days
      Make all His glories known.