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Lay up nearer, brother, nearer
for my limbs
are growing cold
and thy presence seemeth dearer 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
'neath the
ocean's briny surf.
I am going, brother, going
but my hope
in God is strong
I am willing, brother, knowing
that he
doeth nothing wrong.
Hark, I hear the Saviour speaking - 'tis, I know, his voice so well
when I'm gone, oh don't be weeping
Brother, hear my last farewell.