Who waft his soul to joys on high,
And blissful scenes at God's right hand.
Nor does the monster yet relent,—
Four blooming victims he has slain,
Yet on another now intent,
He bends his fatal bow again.
And must this only daughter go,
Ere half her budding graces bloom?
Yes, cruel death will take her too,
To swell his numbers in the tomb.