There remaineth…a rest to the people of God. Hebrews 4:9
Words: Robert H. Washburne, in The Revival No. 4 (Atlanta, Georgia: Charlie Tillman, 1903), number 272.
If you know where to get a good photo of Washburne (head-and-shoulders, at least 200×300 pixels), would you ?
O the sweetest place in memory
Is that lonely mound of earth,
Where my mother softly slumbers,
Mother dear, who gave me birth;
Years have passed since she departed
From our midst at set of sun
Going to her home in Heaven,
For her earthly race was run.
O the dearest place to memory
Is that hillside far away,
Where she, sleeping ’neath the flowers,
Waits the resurrection day.
Oft I wander to the hillside,
Sit beside that grave so dear,
Where I hear the songs of angels
And I feel their presence near;
Scenes of earth fade in the distance,
And a glorious host I see,
There among the white robed seraphs,
Mother dear, awaiting me.
So I journey on in sadness
O’er life’s dreary, barren waste,
Cheered by thoughts of blessèd meeting,
As my steps toward Heaven haste;
There some day I too shall enter,
See my loved ones gone before,
There shall greet again that mother,
There abide forevermore.
So I think of that old churchyard
On the hillside far away,
And the form of that dear mother
That we carried there one day;
Guarded still by God’s bright angels,
Who their solemn vigils keep,
Watching o’er her silent slumber,
Dearest mother’s gentle sleep.