Hark! the shrill horn that rends the sky
Bespeaks thy ready murder nigh,
The long parade of death I spy,
And leave my lone captivity.
Farewell, ye mansions of despair,
Scenes of my sad sequestered care.
The balm of bleeding war is near.
Adieu, my lone captivity.
To purer mansions in the sky,
Fair Hope directs my grief-worn eye,