"The Dying Californian" First page of a poem written by John William Wolf on April 1, 1888.

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1. Lay up nearer brother, nearer, for my limbs are growing cold. And thy presence seemeth nearer, when thine arms around me fold.
2. 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.
3. I am going, surely going, but my hope in God is strong. I’m well, brother, knowing that He doth nothing wrong.
4. Tell my father when you greet him, that in death I prayed for him. Prayed that I might only meet him in a world that’s free from sin.
5. Tell my mother God assist her know that she is growing old. That her child would glad have kissed her when her lips grew pale and cold.
6. Listen brother, catch my whisper – tis my wife I’ll speak of now; Tell oh tell her how I missed her when the fever burned my brow

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