RECITATIVE. 



Lift, lift, fond Pair, the drooping head; 

 O let the Smiles, so soon that fled, 



Again salute th' enliven'd Morn! 

 Hush, hush Affection's mournful sigh, 

 And wipe from out the tear-dew'd eye 



The pearls that Woe's pale cheek adorn. 





CHORUS. 



Ye Choirs of Harmony on high, 

 Who tune the spheres that charm the sky, 

 For ever rolling round th' eternal throne; 

 Quick with your magic sounds unfold 

 Yon portals of celestial gold ;— 

 A Sister Minstrel comes to claim her own. 

 Haste, bring the vest of shining white, 

 The glitt'ring harp, and crown of light, 

 And pour a flood of radiance on her way !- 

 She comes, she comes ! upon her brow 

 Life beams immortal triumph how ; 

 Her eyelids open on eternal day! 





GRAND CHORUS. 



Hark, how the golden lyres around 

 Roll all the majesty of sound, 

 As loud she hails her native sky! 

 Now wide upon the raptur'd sight 

 Burst beatific visions bright ; 

 Death binds her lovely form no more ; 

 She bursts the bonds that chain'd before, 

 And puts on — immortality. 



Hunt. 





