Hark! they whisper; angels say, Sister spirit, come away!

Vital spark of heav'nly flame! Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame: Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!

Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

The garlands fade, the vows are worn away; So dies her love, and so my hopes decay.