9 The Winter past, reviving flowers
Anew shall paint the plain,
The woods shall hear the voice of Spring,
And flourish green again.
10 But man departs this earthly scene,
Ah! never to return!
No second Spring shall e'er revive
The ashes of the urn.
11 The inexorable doors of death
What hand can e'er unfold?
Who from the cerements of the tomb
Can raise the human mould?
12 The mighty flood that rolls along
Its torrents to the main,
The waters lost can ne'er recall
From that abyss again.
13 The days, the years, the ages, dark
Descending down to night,
Can never, never be redeemed
Back to the gates of light.
14 So man departs the living scene,
To night's perpetual gloom;
The voice of morning ne'er shall break
The slumbers of the tomb.
15 Where are our fathers? Whither gone
The mighty men of old?
The patriarchs, prophets, princes, kings,
In sacred books enrolled?
16 Gone to the resting-place of man,
The everlasting home,
Where ages past have gone before,
Where future ages come,
17 Thus nature poured the wail of woe,
And urged her earnest cry;
Her voice, in agony extreme,
Ascended to the sky.
18 The Almighty heard: then from his throne
In majesty he rose;
And from the heaven, that opened wide,
His voice in mercy flows: