Frances Jane Crosby Van Alstyne

Oh! could I see as thou hast seen, The garden of the west, When Spring in all her loveliness Fair nature’s face has dressed. The rolling prairie, vast and wild! It hath a charm for me— Its tall grass waving to the breeze, Like billows on the sea. Say, hast thou chased the bounding deer When smiled the rosy morn? Or hast thou listened to the sound Of the merry hunter’s horn? Once could the noble red-man call That prairie wild his home;— His cabin now in ruins laid, He must an exile roam, And thou at twilight’s pensive hour, Perchance hast seen him weep;— Tread lightly o’er the hallowed spot, For there his kindred sleep. I envy not the opulent His proud and lordly dome; Far happier is the pioneer Who seeks a prairie home;— Where no discordant notes are heard, But all is harmony; Where soars aloft unfettered thought, And the heart beats light and free.

Let me die on the prairie! and o’er my rude grave, In the soft breeze of summer the tall grass shall wave; I would breathe my last sigh as the bright hues of even Are melting away in the blue arch of Heaven. Let me die on the prairie! unwept and unknown, I would pass from this fair Earth forgotten, alone;— Yet no! – there are hearts I have learned to revere, And methinks there is bliss in affection’s warm tear. Oh, speak not to me of the green cypress shade; I would sleep where the bones of the Indian are laid, And the deer will bound o’er me with step light and free, And the carol of birds will my requiem be. Let me die on the prairie! I have wished for it long; There floats in wild numbers the bold hunter’s song; ’Tis the spot of all others the dearest to me, And how sweet in its bosom my slumber will be!

Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! O what a foretaste of glory divine! Heir of salvation, purchase of God, Born of His Spirit, washed in His blood! Chorus: This is my story, this is my song, Praising my Saviour all the day long. Perfect submission, perfect delight, Visions of rapture now burst on my sight; Angels descending bring from above Echoes of mercy, whispers of love. Perfect submission, all is at rest, I in my Saviour am happy and blest,— Watching and waiting, looking above, Filled with His goodness, lost in His love.