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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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marker 99
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LYRICS
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Meter:
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8 6 8 6 (C.M.)
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Writer(s):
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Trans/Adapted:
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Dates:
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Bible Refs:
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LIST OF LYRIC SOURCES
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Hymn/Song Book
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Year
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Song #
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| 2005 | # 372 |
MUSIC
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Name:
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AZMON (DENFIELD)
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Meter:
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8 6 8 6 (C.M.)
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Writer(s):
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Dates:
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1828,1839
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LIST OF MUSIC SOURCES
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Hymn/Song Book
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Song #
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Key
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| # 176 | No key | | # 485 | A | | # 76 | Ab | | # 117 | Ab | | # 129 | Ab | | # 440 | G | | # 587 | G | | # 178 | A | | # 296 | A | | # 717 | A | | # 109 | A | | # 187 | Ab | | # 239 | Ab |
echo ' | ';
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Hymn Writer
