And with soft sounds to gentle thoughts incline,
No passion reign'd, where he did not combine.
He knew such mystic touches, that in death
Could cure the fear, or stop the parting breath:
And if to die had been his fear
Or life his care,
He with his lyre could call,
And could unite his spirits to the fight,
And vanquish Death in his own field of night.
Pleased with some powerful Hallelujah