When shuddering death-chills o’er me creep,
And friends around me mourn and weep,
Be buoyed above the waves’ wild sweep,
Where bursting billows roar and leap;
And hear the ‘whispering angels’ say
“Sister Spirit, come away;”
And borne on Faith and Fancy’s wing,
Still hear them as they shout, and sing,
“My ears with sounds seraphic ring,”
My soul through all its mystic springs,