So oft we have seen in the cloud-garnished sun,
So oft in dread lightning espy.
My friends, when my spirit is fled, is fled,
My friends, when my spirit is fled,
Ah, put me not bound, in the dark and cold ground,
Where light shall no longer be shed, be shed,
Where daylight no more shall be shed.
But lay me up scaffolded high, all high,
Chiefs, lay me up scaffolded high,
Where my tribe shall still say, as they point to my clay,