Flowers of all scents were strew’d around;
The rose exhaled its fragrant sigh,
Blest on the altar to smile and die;
And a fragrant cloud from the censer’s breath
Half hid the sacred pomp beneath;
And still the peal of choral song
Swell’d the resounding aisles along;
Wakening, in its triumphant flow,
Deep echoes from the graves below.
Why, from its woodland birthplace torn,