And when I die, this life I have, I yield
To the maker of man I thus concede
No longer clothed in this body of sin
The call of death I will no longer fear
And when I die, this life of mine
I no longer claim
No longer engrossed with your love
No longer in touch with pain
So in this life I live, with love,
For in that day it never will be heard of
To touch, to see, I gladly cherish
To live in love, oh' what a gift
When at last I hear Him call my name
And his blood- stained hands I see
When the sun looks dimly down
Then I will look up and say,
Lord I am coming home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem