Indian Methodist Hymn-book
While the tempest still is high:
Hide me, oh, my Saviour, hide,
Till the storm of life be past;
Safe into the haven guide,
Oh, receive my soul at last. 15 THERE IS A LAND OF PURE DELIGHT. Can. Hym'l, No. 254.
Tchee-tchilth tumokh owe-awts hayluk
Ta shwalays ta ay-e mestayokh,
Owe-awts see-a-kwom staa to lay,
Owita `kaw-`kie lay.
Owe-awts kweelis lay ta tchee-tchilth,
Ta spa-`kwom owe-awts ay-e;
Tla-wat owe-awts tsits-ay-e o ay-e,
Tchalal hayluk lay titsa.
1 There is a land of pure delight
Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain.
2 There everlasting spring abides,
And never withering flowers;
Death, like a narrow sea, divides
That heavenly land from ours