Of life for death.
Oh, spirit folded in thy sleep,
Oh, soul long buried fathoms deep
Beneath the old
Material mould,
Fling off the load that, year by year,
Has veiled thy sight and dulled thine ear;
And as the lark
Doth, soaring, hark
To heavenly sounds, so hearken thou
To that low voice that calleth now
Across the dark.
Oh, wake and hark,
The night goes fast! Oh, wake and pray, For 't is the dawn of Easter day,
When heaven doth lift
Above the drift