| Citation |
MJ.783.043
25 Mar 1783:41 (10/14 501)
A FUNERAL HYMN
1. Ye midnight shades, o'er nature spread!
Dumb silence of the dreary hour!
In honour of the approaching dead,
Around your awful terrors pour.
Yes, pour around,
On this pale ground,
Thro' all this deep surrounding gloom,
The sober thought,
The tear untaught,
Those meetest mourners at a tomb.
. . . [2nd verse]
3. Now, let the sacred organ blow,
With solemn pause, and sounding flow;
Now, let the voice due measure keep,
In strains that sigh, and words that weep;
Till all the vocal current blended roll,
Not to depress, but lift the soaring soul.
. . . [2 more verses]
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