And griefs would tear my throbbing breast,
Thy tuneful praises, raised on high,
Shall check the murmur and the sigh.
3But, O, when that last conflict's o'er,
And I am chained to flesh no more;
With what glad accents shall I rise
To join the music of the skies!
4Soon shall I learn the exalted strains
Which echo o'er the heavenly plains;
And emulate, with joy unknown,