And round whose altars grass and ivy climb:
They gladly thronged, their grateful hymns to raise,
Oft as the calm and holy Sabbath shone;
The mingled tribute of their prayers and praise,
In sweet communion rose before the throne.
Here, from those honored lips, which sacred fire
From Heaven’s high chancery hath touched, they hear
Truths which their zeal inflame, their hopes inspire,
Give wings to faith, and check affliction’s tear.
When life flowed by, and, like an angel, Death