He dies, the happy Indian dies,
Closes his eyes to earth, and flies
Up to the region of the skies.
Angelic legions lead the way,
To the portals of celestial day,
Wide spreads the news, all Heaven rings,
Angels and ransomed spirits wave their wings,
All lowly bending to the King of kings;
Mingling their loftiest harmonies,
Their sweetest, softest melodies,