Darken round this mortal lamp;
Never more shall noon-day's glance
Search this mortal countenance.
3Deep the pit, and cold the bed,
Where the spoils of death are laid;
Stiff the curtains, chill the gloom,
Of man's melancholy tomb.
4Look aloft! The spirit's risen--
Death cannot the soul imprison;
'Tis in heaven that spirits dwell,