How Many Kindred Souls Are Fled
To The Vast Regions Of The Dead,
Since From This Day The Changing Sun
Through His Last Yearly Period Run!
We Yet Survive; But Who Can Say,
Or Through The Year, Or Month Or Day,
I Will Retain This Vital Breath;
Thus Far At Least In League With Death?
That Breath Is Thine, Eternal God,
’This Thine To Fix The Soul’s Abode;
It Holds Its Life From Thee Alone,
On Earth, Or In The World Unknown.
To Thee Our Spirits We Resign,
Make Them And Own Them, Still As Thine;
So Shall They Smile, Secure From Fear,
Though Death Should Blast The Rising Year.
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