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Hymn/Song Information

Wake up my muse condole the loss Of those who




Wake up, my muse, condole the loss
Of those who mourn this day;
Let tears run down on every face,
And every mourner pray.


The tyrant death came rushing in,
And here, his power to show;
With icy hand he touched this child,
And laid its visage low.


No more the pleasant child is seen,
To please the parent's eye;
The tender plant, so fresh and green,
Is in eternity.


The golden bowl by death is broke,
The pitcher burst in twain;
The cistern wheel hast felt the stroke,
The pleasant child is slain.


The winding sheet enfolds its limbs,
The coffin holds it fast;
To-day ‘tis seen by all its friends,
But this must be the last—


Until the Lord doth come to judge,
The nations great and small;
When you and I the test shall stand,
Or at his presence fall.

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LYRICS
Meter: 8 6 8 6 (C.M.)
Writer(s):
    Trans/Adapted:
      Dates:
      Bible Refs:
      LIST OF LYRIC SOURCES
      Hymn/Song Book Year Song #
      2005# 372
      MUSIC
      Name: AZMON (DENFIELD)
      Meter: 8 6 8 6 (C.M.)
      Writer(s):
        Dates: 1828,1839
        SCORE PREVIEW
        score
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