Ah, the old father in Zion was blest!
Blest in his household, his home and his goods!
Ah, he was perfectly happy!
As the full golden moon of his purified soul
Wheeled down to the rim of the west,
Where the angel of God stood with waiting pinions
To waft him high upward to glory.
My song is done.
(And the blended tones of the axe sunk away
Like the last water-like notes of the lute of the winds,